Chapter 9: The Unfit

Two days after the shake marathon, Sugi woke up feeling like she was made of wet cement.

Her body had a density to it that sleep hadn’t fixed. The heavy, liquid bloat from the shakes had subsided somewhat, though her abdomen still felt tender and strangely distended, like a slowly deflating balloon. A deep, bone-level exhaustion clung to her limbs, making even the thought of rolling over seem like an athletic feat. She lay still for a long time, listening to the faint internal gurgles of a digestive system still processing the shock of forty-eight hours ago.

Getting out of bed was a production. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, which already felt like work. Swinging her legs over the side of the mattress sent a dull ache through her lower back, a now-familiar protest from carrying more weight than it was designed for. Her feet hit the floor with a soft thud. Standing up required a small rocking motion to build momentum. The full, soft weight of her belly settled low and heavy against her thighs as she finally stood upright.

She shuffled to the bathroom, her movements slow and deliberate. The mirror showed the aftermath plainly. Her face looked puffy, with shadows under her eyes that spoke of poor sleep and systemic strain. Her stomach, even in its slightly reduced state, still protruded in a solid, round curve that seemed to start just under her breasts and slope outward. It was a different shape from before the shakes—less like a food baby and more like a permanent swelling, as if her entire midsection had been inflated and hadn’t fully decided to deflate.

The memory of Dr. Evans’s stern voice echoed in her head. Acute pancreatitis. Organ strain. She pressed a hand against her side, halfway expecting a sharp pain. There was only that deep, pervasive ache of overuse. She wondered if this was what recovery felt like, or if this was just her new baseline.

A text notification chimed from her phone on the nightstand, slicing through the quiet apartment.

Jennie: On my way! Be there in 20. Ready to get our buffet on? 😋

Sugi stared at the message. The buffet. The seven-hundred-and-fifty-dollar request she’d accepted while still wired from the doctor’s scolding. It had seemed abstract then, a future problem. Now it was today, and her body felt like it needed a month of broth and sleep, not a four-hour eating spectacle.

She typed back a simple Yeah, see you soon, before the hesitation could solidify into something else.

Twenty minutes later, a bright, rapid-fire knock sounded at her door. Sugi opened it to find JennieLush standing in the hallway, radiating an energy that felt almost aggressive in contrast to Sugi’s own sluggishness.

“Hey, Cutie!” Jennie chirped, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She was dressed in a cute, tight-fitting pastel dress that showed off her own substantial curves, her blonde hair styled in perfect waves. She smelled like vanilla and sugar. “Oh wow, you look… cozy.”

Sugi knew what that meant. She was wearing the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants she’d slept in, her hair was a mess, and she probably still had pillow creases on her cheek. Next to Jennie’s polished vibrancy, she felt like a worn-out sack.

“I’m still recovering from the shakes,” Sugi said, her voice raspy from disuse.

“Aw, poor thing,” Jennie said, though her smile didn’t falter. She gave Sugi an appraising look that traveled from her face down to her bare feet. “But hey, that’s why today is perfect. A nice, steady all-you-can-eat. No crazy chugging, just grazing. It’ll be fun! And the stream is gonna be huge.”

Jennie moved further into the apartment, her cheerfulness filling the space. “So, what are you wearing? We should coordinate a little for the stream. Cute but comfy, you know?”

The question landed with a quiet thud of dread. Sugi hadn’t actually gotten dressed yet. She’d been putting it off.

“I… haven’t decided,” she admitted.

“Well, let’s pick something out! We don’t want to be late for our reservation.” Jennie headed toward Sugi’s bedroom as if she owned the place.

Sugi followed more slowly, the dread curdling into something sharper: embarrassment.

Her wardrobe was a museum of her former life and its rapid obsolescence. The closet was still mostly filled with clothes from before she started gaining—smart blouses and tailored pants for her food science job, cute dresses from her college days, jeans in sizes that were now laughable. A smaller section at one end held the recent acquisitions: a few stretchy leggings, some oversized sweaters and tunics bought online when her old clothes started refusing to button.

Jennie pulled open the closet doors with a flourish. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.”

She began rifling through the hangers, her manicured fingers flicking past silk blouses and fitted cardigans. “Hmm. A lot of… professional stuff.” She pulled out a pair of dark-wash jeans with a size tag that read 6. She held them up, glancing at Sugi’s hips and the soft swell of her belly beneath the t-shirt. A faint, knowing smirk touched her lips. “These aren’t gonna work.”

“No,” Sugi said flatly.

“What about dresses? Something flowy?” Jennie moved to the dresses, pulling out a simple black shift dress Sugi had worn to graduation. She held it against Sugi’s front. The skirt barely reached past where Sugi’s belly now began. “Yeah, no. This is a tunic now.”

Sugi’s face grew warm. This wasn’t like looking at herself in the mirror alone. This was someone else witnessing the physical evidence of what she’d become, item by item. Each garment Jennie dismissed was a tiny verdict.

“The stuff that fits is over here,” Sugi muttered, moving to the small section at the end.

It wasn’t much. Two pairs of black leggings, both with wide, stretchy waistbands that were supposed to be forgiving. Three oversized sweaters in neutral colors. A couple of long, jersey-knit tops.

Jennie inspected them with a critical eye. “Okay, basics. Good.” She pulled out one of the sweaters—a charcoal gray cable-knit thing that Sugi had ordered because the model looked cozy. “This is cute! And leggings are comfy for eating.” She grabbed a pair of the black leggings.

“Try these on,” Jennie said, handing them over. “Let’s make sure they’re stream-worthy.”

Sugi took the clothes into the bathroom to change, closing the door behind her. The simple act of pulling off her sleep shirt made her breath catch. Her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door was uncompromising.

She was naked now except for her underwear, which were themselves digging into her flesh with uncomfortable tightness. Her body had changed so much in such a short time. The smooth curve of her belly dominated her silhouette, pale and round with a slight softness that spilled over the waistband of her panties. Her hips were wider, her thighs thicker, all of it solid and real and there. The girl who had fit into those size 6 jeans was gone, erased by months of deliberate consumption.

She stepped into the leggings, pulling them up over her calves and knees. They stretched tight over her thighs immediately. Tugging them over her hips required a bit of hopping and adjusting, sucking in her stomach reflexively even though it didn’t help at all. Finally, she worked the wide waistband up.

It fit, but just barely.

The black fabric was stretched taut across her belly and hips, losing its opacity and becoming slightly sheer under the strain. Every curve was outlined with unmistakable clarity. The waistband, meant to sit comfortably at the natural waist, was instead bisecting the widest part of her stomach, creating two distinct rolls of flesh above and below it—a soft shelf above where the sweater would sit, and another bulge below that pressed against the top of her pubic bone. The seams along the inner thighs looked ready to give.

She pulled the gray sweater on over her head. It was supposed to be oversized, drowning her frame in cozy fabric. Now it settled over her shoulders and arms with a normal fit before stretching tight across her bust and then pulling even tighter over the massive dome of her stomach. The hem hung down only to mid-hip, leaving several inches of the strained leggings exposed below.

She looked at herself. The outfit “fit” in the technical sense that she was wearing it without any buttons popping or seams audibly tearing. But it was a confession in knit and spandex. It showed everything: the sheer volume of her new body, the way clothes were no longer something she wore but something she filled to capacity.

Opening the bathroom door felt like stepping onto a stage.

Jennie was waiting in the bedroom, scrolling on her phone. She looked up as Sugi emerged.

For a second, Jennie just looked at her—a slow visual sweep from head to toe that made Sugi want to cross her arms over her stomach.

Then Jennie’s smile returned, wider and more genuine this time. “Perfect,” she declared. “Perfect?” Sugi echoed. “Absolutely.” Jennie walked over and gave Sugi’s belly an affectionate pat through the thin sweater fabric. “It shows everything.” “That’s what makes it perfect,” Jennie said cheerfully. “The stream isn’t about hiding anything. It’s about showing exactly what you are. And honey, you look fed. You look like you just finished a twenty-four-hour shake marathon two days ago and you’re still packed. The fans are going to lose their minds.” She tilted her head. “Are you uncomfortable?” Sugi considered it. The leggings were tight, digging into her skin. The sweater felt restrictive across her middle. She could already feel a light sweat forming under the wool blend. “A little,” she admitted. Jennie laughed, a bright, bubbly sound. “Good. Now let’s go get you even more uncomfortable.” She slung her own purse over her shoulder and picked up Sugi’s bag for her, handing it over. “You ready?” Sugi looked down at herself once more, at the visible strain of fabric over flesh. She took a breath that was shallow thanks to the pressure around her ribs. Then she nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m ready.”

The buffet was a sprawling, cavernous place called "Grand Feast," located in a strip mall that seemed entirely dedicated to various ways of consuming calories. Neon signs in the windows promised "Endless Variety" and "Live Carving Stations." The parking lot was already filling up with lunch crowds.

Jennie found a spot surprisingly close to the entrance. Getting out of the car was its own small ordeal for Sugi. She had to pivot her body sideways, using the door frame for leverage to haul herself up from the low seat. The tight leggings restricted her movement, making everything feel stiff and awkward. She could feel the eyes of a family walking past, the parents steering their kids along while giving her a quick, curious glance. The sweater rode up as she stood, exposing more of the strained black fabric beneath.

Jennie, of course, hopped out with effortless grace, already checking her phone. "They're expecting us," she said, leading the way.

Inside, the sensory overload was immediate. The air was warm and thick with the mingled smells of roasted meat, frying oil, sugary syrup, and disinfectant. The cacophony of clattering plates, chatter, and the occasional shout from the kitchen echoed off the high ceilings. The space was a maze of food stations, each with its own theme: a salad bar that looked neglected, a gleaming chrome counter for carved ham and roast beef, a section dedicated to various fried things glowing under heat lamps, a pasta station where a bored-looking teenager tossed noodles in a pan, and a dessert island that seemed to be constructed entirely of gelatin and whipped cream.

A hostess greeted them with a plastic smile. "Two for lunch?"

"Reservation for Lush," Jennie said brightly. "We'll need a booth, please. Something with good lighting."

The hostess glanced at Sugi, her eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on Sugi's midsize before she nodded and grabbed two menus. "Right this way."

They weaved through the crowded aisles between tables. Sugi moved carefully, conscious of her bulk. Her hips brushed against the back of a chair, making it squeak. She mumbled an apology to the startled diner. Jennie forged ahead, following the hostess to a large corner booth near the central food area.

The booth was upholstered in cracked red vinyl. The table was bolted to the floor, with benches on either side fixed in place. The gap between the table edge and the bench seat looked narrow.

"Here you are," the hostess said, setting the menus down.

Sugi hesitated, eyeing the space. She knew this dance already. She turned her body sideways and began the slow process of sliding into the booth. First, she had to get her legs under the table. She bent her knees, lowering herself with a controlled drop onto the bench. The moment her weight settled, she felt the problem. Her stomach met the hard edge of the table almost immediately. There was no room for it. She couldn't scoot forward because her belly was already pressed firmly against the laminate surface, creating a visible shelf of gray sweater and flesh that pushed the table slightly.

She tried shifting to the side, attempting to angle herself. It didn't help. The table pressed into her with an unyielding firmness, a horizontal bar of pressure right across her most sensitive, still-aching middle. It was uncomfortable bordering on painful—a constant, deep compression that made taking anything more than a shallow breath difficult.

Jennie slid into the opposite side with ease, barely causing the booth to creak. She watched Sugi's struggles with an amused, approving glint in her eye.

"Snug fit?" she asked.

"Very," Sugi managed, her voice already sounding a bit strained from the constriction.

"Perfect," Jennie said again, as if it were her favorite word. She opened her menu briefly before tossing it aside. "Okay, game plan. I'm going to do a first pass and get us a base layer. You just get comfy and prepare your stomach for glory."

Before Sugi could respond, Jennie was up and heading toward the food stations, grabbing two empty plates from a stack with the focused air of a general heading into battle.

Sugi was left alone at the table, wedged in place. She tried adjusting her posture, leaning back slightly to relieve some pressure. It just made the edge of the table dig into a different part of her belly. She was trapped here now, pinned by her own body and the unaccommodating architecture of the booth. A strange kind of calm settled over her. There was no point fighting it. This was her reality: stuck at a table in a public place, about to be fed an absurd amount of food while people watched. The shameful thrill of it began as a low buzz in her veins.

Jennie returned quicker than expected, her first plate already a precarious mountain. She set it down in front of Sugi with a soft thud.

"Start with some protein," Jennie instructed.

The plate held thick slices of honey-glazed ham, slabs of rare roast beef weeping pink juices, and several breaded chicken tenders piled on top of each other. It was more meat than Sugi would normally eat in two meals.

Jennie disappeared again without sitting down.

Sugi picked up her fork, feeling oddly formal. She speared a piece of ham and took a bite. It was salty and sweet. Chewing felt like an automatic process. The pressure from the table made each swallow feel like she was packing something into an already-full container.

By the time she'd made a dent in the meat plate, Jennie was back with two more. One held a tangle of fettuccine alfredo, creamy sauce pooling around the edges, topped with two garlic breadsticks crossed like swords. The other was a landscape of fried food: onion rings, mozzarella sticks, crispy shrimp, and what looked like mac-and-cheese bites.

"Variety is key," Jennie said, arranging the new plates around the first one, creating a semicircle of abundance in front of Sugi. "Don't let yourself get bored."

She was off again before Sugi could speak.

This became the pattern over the next fifteen minutes. Jennie moved through the buffet with efficient purpose, a one-woman foraging party. She brought back mashed potatoes and gravy in a soup bowl because a plate wouldn't hold enough. She brought back a small plate piled high with crispy bacon from the breakfast station. She brought back a bowl of chili con carne, topped with a mountain of shredded cheese and sour cream.

The table space around Sugi transformed into a grotesque still-life of American excess. The sheer volume was staggering even to look at. And Jennie wasn't done.

"Okay," Jennie said finally, sliding back into her seat across the expansive spread. She was slightly flushed from her trips, her smile brilliant. "I think that's a good start for round one." She pulled out her phone and a small portable tripod from her purse.

"Time to go live."

She extended the tripod legs and positioned the phone on the table, angling it so it captured Sugi head-on, with the wall of food clearly visible in front of her and Jennie partially in frame on the opposite side.

"You ready to say hi?" Jennie asked Sugi as her fingers danced over her phone screen.

Sugi nodded, pushing down another wave of nausea that was part anxiety and part genuine fullness from what she'd already eaten.

Jennie tapped a button. "Hey everyone!" she chirped into her phone's microphone. "We are LIVE from Grand Feast buffet with the one and only Chubby Cutie!" She panned the camera slightly, giving a quick view of the food-laden table. "Look at this spread! And we've only just begun." She turned the phone back to focus on Sugi. "Say hi, Cutie!"

Sugi forced a smile, lifting a hand in a small wave. "Hi, everyone."

The chat, visible on Jennie's screen, began to scroll almost instantly. Usernames and messages flooded in: JENNIEEEE AND CUTIE! OMG THE FOOD She looks so full already That table is digging into her belly lol $750 well spent

Jennie laughed, reading the comments aloud. "They can see you're nice and snug in that booth, Cutie. How's that feel?"

"It's tight," Sugi admitted, her voice quieter. "The table is… really pressing in."

We can see! Her belly is pushing it out! Eat something soft to cushion it

Jennie grinned. "Good idea! Here, try some of this alfredo." She used Sugi's fork to twist up a large bundle of pasta, holding it out. Sugi leaned forward as much as she could— which wasn't much— and accepted the bite. The rich, creamy sauce coated her tongue. She chewed slowly, the act feeling both performative and necessary.

"That's it," Jennie encouraged, her eyes flicking between Sugi and the chat. "Someone asks how many plates that is so far." She counted quickly. "That's… one meat plate, one pasta plate, one fried plate, plus sides. So four main plates plus bowls. And we're just warming up!"

A donation notification chimed brightly from Jennie's phone. "Thank you for the twenty, FeedingFan!" Jennie said. "They say 'Make her eat three more plates of just fried food.'" She looked at Sugi, her eyebrows raised in question.

Sugi's stomach gave a low, unhappy gurgle that the microphone probably picked up. She could feel every bite sitting heavily inside her, compounded by the unrelenting pressure of the table. But Jennie's expectant look, and the knowledge of hundreds— maybe thousands— of people watching, pushed her. She nodded.

"You heard them, Cutie!" Jennie said, clapping her hands once. "I'll be right back." She hopped up again, heading for the fried station.

Alone with the camera again, Sugi took another bite of pasta on her own, trying to look engaged. She glanced at the chat scrolling on Jennie's propped-up phone. Questions flew by: What did you weigh last? Can you still see your feet? Is Jennie feeding you for real or just for stream? You look miserable I love it

The mix of concern, voyeurism, and fetishistic glee was familiar, but amplified by being live, with no edit button. Every grimace, every labored swallow, was broadcast in real time.

Jennie returned with a plate stacked high with golden-brown everything: more onion rings, fried zucchini, chicken nuggets, and something that looked like deep-fried pickles. She set it down directly in front of Sugi. "Three more plates to go after this one to fulfill that request!" she announced cheerfully to the stream.

Sugi stared at the new plate. The smell of hot oil was suddenly overwhelming. Her throat tightened. But Jennie was already picking up a mozzarella stick from an earlier plate, holding it out to Sugi's lips.

"Come on, one bite at a time. For the fans."

Sugi opened her mouth. The fried cheese was molten inside, burning her tongue slightly. She chewed mechanically, her jaw aching. The chat exploded with fire emojis and heart-eye faces.

"This is amazing!" Jennie said, reading more comments. "They love seeing you like this. Someone says 'She's so obedient for Jennie.' Isn't that right, Cutie? You're being such a good girl."

The words, spoken so sweetly in public amidst the lunchtime clatter, sent an electric jolt straight through Sugi's core. The discomfort, the public spectacle, the submission to Jennie's direction—it all coalesced into that dark, addictive cocktail of shame and arousal. Her face flushed hot. She took another bite without being prompted, this time from the pile of roast beef.

"That's it!" Jennie encouraged. "Show them what you can do." She turned back to the phone. "She's really going for it, guys. We're going to be here for hours." She winked at the camera. "And remember, any special requests can go straight to the donation link. We aim to please."

The hours blurred into a strange, pressurized dream. Sugi ate. That was the central, inescapable fact of her existence. She ate fried food until the grease made her feel slick inside. She ate pasta until the creamy sauce became a cloying paste on her tongue. She ate carved meat until the salt made her throat dry. And through it all, the hard edge of the table pressed a constant, deep line across her swollen middle, a physical reminder of her confinement.

Jennie was a relentless, cheerful maestro. She narrated for the stream, read donations and requests aloud, and orchestrated Sugi’s consumption with a gentle, firm authority that brooked no real refusal.

“Look at that belly pushing against the table,” Jennie cooed into the phone, reaching over to give Sugi’s taut sweater a little pat. The touch sent a shiver through Sugi, part discomfort and part something else entirely. “You can see how much she’s packed in there already. And we’re only halfway through our time!”

The chat scrolled with escalating intensity. Make her drink a whole soda! I want to hear her burp. $50 if she unbuttons her leggings under the table.

Sugi saw that last one flash by. Her heart hammered against her ribs, which were themselves compressed. The thought of doing that here, in this public booth with staff walking past, was terrifying. It was also, shamefully, compelling. The ultimate act of submission to the spectacle.

Jennie read it too. She met Sugi’s eyes across the table, a mischievous question in her own. Sugi gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head. A plea.

Jennie’s smile didn’t falter. “Let’s keep it family-friendly for the buffet, folks,” she said smoothly to the stream, dismissing the request without missing a beat. But the way she looked at Sugi afterward—a knowing, intimate glance—suggested the idea had been noted, filed away for later. The power dynamic was clear: Jennie could have insisted. She chose not to. This time.

The exhibitionism of it all was intoxicating and horrifying in equal measure. Every time a server came to clear empty plates or a family walked by their corner booth, Sugi wanted to shrink into the vinyl. But she couldn’t shrink. She could only sit there, massively, visibly full, with a phone broadcasting her state to thousands. The shame burned, but it burned clean and bright, merging seamlessly with the deep ache of fullness and the thrill of being so thoroughly under someone else’s control.

Eventually, a wall of pure physical impossibility rose up inside her.

It happened after what felt like the hundredth plate—a small dish of creamy potato salad Jennie had brought over as a “palate cleanser.” Sugi looked at it. Her hand, holding her fork, felt like it weighed fifty pounds. Her stomach was no longer just full; it was a solid, agonizing mass that seemed to occupy her entire torso from pelvis to sternum. Every breath was a shallow sip of air that made the pressure spike. A cold sweat had broken out on her forehead.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and strained.

“Hmm?” Jennie leaned in, still smiling for the stream.

“I can’t eat anymore,” Sugi said, more firmly. She let her fork clatter onto the plate. “I’m done. I’m going to be sick.”

For the first time, Jennie’s cheerful mask slipped into something more intent. Her eyes flicked to the phone, to the live viewer count which had climbed steadily into the thousands. Then she looked back at Sugi, her expression softening into something that was almost sympathetic, but not quite.

“Aw, you’ve hit the wall,” Jennie said, her tone still light for the audience. “That’s okay! Every champion hits the wall.” She pushed back from the table and stood up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Sugi almost laughed at the absurdity of the instruction. Go anywhere? She was welded to the spot.

Jennie returned not with another savory plate, but with a small dessert plate holding a single, massive slice of chocolate cake. It was dark and fudgy, slathered with thick buttercream frosting and drizzled with caramel sauce. She set it down directly in front of Sugi.

“Just one more bite,” Jennie coaxed, her voice dropping to a more private register though the microphone still picked it up. “A sweet finish. For me.”

“Jennie, no,” Sugi groaned, closing her eyes. The smell of sugar was nauseating.

“Just one bite,” Jennie insisted. She picked up a dessert fork, cut a huge corner of the cake that was mostly frosting, and held it out. “Come on. Be a good girl for the stream. Show them you can push through.”

The phrase good girl did its work again, hitting Sugi in that vulnerable, wired place. Her resistance was a thin veneer over a deep need to please, to obey, to fulfill the fantasy they were creating together. She opened her eyes and looked at the proffered bite, then at Jennie’s expectant face.

Slowly, miserably, she opened her mouth.

Jennie slid the fork in. The cake was intensely sweet, rich beyond belief. The frosting felt like eating solid sugar and fat. Sugi chewed once, twice, forcing her throat to work against its own rebellion. She swallowed with an audible gulp that sounded painful even to her own ears.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. The room seemed to tilt.

“There!” Jennie said triumphantly, turning back to the phone. “She did it! What a trooper.” She fed Sugi another bite, then another, each one slower and more agonizing than the last until the huge slice of cake was half gone and Sugi was making low, involuntary groaning sounds with every forced swallow.

Finally, even Jennie seemed to sense she had reached the absolute limit. Sugi’s face was pale and clammy, her eyes glazed over.

“Okay,” Jennie said softly, putting the fork down. “That’s enough.” She addressed the stream again, her showmanship returning. “Well folks, I think we’ve officially filled Chubby Cutie to capacity! What an incredible stream. Thank you all for the donations and the crazy requests.” She blew a kiss to the camera. “We’ll see you next time!”

She reached over and ended the broadcast.

Silence descended on their corner of the buffet—or at least, the relative silence of distant clatter and conversation. The absence of the live chat’s energy left Sugi feeling hollowed out and impossibly heavy.

They sat there for what felt like another hour, though it was probably less. Sugi drifted in and out of a pained haze, unable to move, barely able to think. Jennie sipped a diet soda and scrolled through her phone, occasionally looking up to check on Sugi with a satisfied expression.

The lunch crowd began to thin. The noise level dropped. A manager in a white shirt and tie eventually approached their booth, his smile polite but strained.

“Ladies,” he said. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. We’re going to be transitioning to our dinner setup soon, so we’ll need to start clearing this area.”

“Of course,” Jennie said brightly, gathering her phone and tripod. “We were just leaving.” She looked at Sugi expectantly.

Sugi knew what came next. She braced her hands on the table and tried to shift her weight back to slide out of the booth.

Nothing happened.

She pushed against the table again, trying to scoot backwards. Her body didn’t budge an inch. The hard edge of the table had dug itself into the soft flesh of her overstuffed belly so thoroughly that it had created a kind of seal. Her mass was wedged firmly against it on one side and pressed into the vinyl bench on the other. Panic flickered in her chest.

“I’m stuck,” she whispered, humiliation washing over her in a hot wave.

Jennie’s eyes widened slightly—not with concern, but with what looked like delight. “Oh.” She turned to the manager, whose polite smile had frozen. “Um, we have a little situation. She’s kind of… wedged in.”

The manager blinked. “I… see.” He looked from Jennie to Sugi, who was now trying unsuccessfully to rock side-to-side to create some wiggle room. The booth creaked ominously. “Let me, uh, get some help.”

He hurried away, returning moments later with a busboy, a young man who looked deeply uncomfortable. The manager gestured at the table. “We need to push it back. Just an inch or two should do it.”

The table was bolted to a heavy floor pedestal. The two men positioned themselves at the far edge of Sugi’s side, putting their shoulders into it. “On three,” the manager muttered. “One, two, three!”

They shoved. The table groaned, scraping against the tile floor with a jarring shriek. It moved back maybe two inches.

It was enough. The sudden release of pressure made Sugi gasp. But freedom wasn’t automatic. She was now slumped forward over the new gap, dizzy and disoriented. She needed help getting up.

The manager and the busboy, their faces flaming red, each offered an arm. Sugi grabbed them, her grip weak. With their hauling and her own ungainly heave, she managed to lurch up onto her feet, staggering slightly as her full weight settled. The entire front of her gray sweater was creased from where it had been pressed against the table. The strained leggings felt even tighter, digging into her swollen middle mercilessly.

“Thank you,” Jennie said sweetly, tipping them both with cash from her purse as Sugi stood there, mortified and breathless. “So sorry for the trouble!”

The walk out of the buffet was a slow, shuffling procession. Sugi felt every eye in the place on her—the staff, the lingering diners. She kept her gaze on the floor, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over her own uncooperative body.

The cool outside air hit her like a blessing when they finally emerged. Jennie unlocked the car and helped lower Sugi into the passenger seat, which had become a complicated maneuver involving careful pivoting and controlled collapsing.

Once inside, with the door closed, the world narrowed to the quiet hum of Jennie’s car engine starting up. Sugi leaned back against the headrest, her body humming with a profound, all-encompassing fullness that went beyond pain into something else entirely—a numb, heavy euphoria. Her mind floated, detached from thought. The shame of being publicly extricated from a booth faded into background noise under the overwhelming physical reality of what she had done. She felt profoundly, deeply fed. Owned. Taken care of and used up.

She turned her head slowly on the headrest to look at Jennie, who was checking her makeup in the rearview mirror before pulling out of the spot.

In that vulnerable, food-drunk haze, the words came out without filter, soft and slurry. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Jennie paused, her reflection going still for a second. Then she let out a bright, genuine laugh—a sound that wasn’t for a stream or an audience, but just for them. She turned to look at Sugi, her eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement and something warmer. “Yeah,” she said simply. “Okay.”

A slow, dopey smile spread across Sugi’s face. She didn’t analyze it. She didn’t think about what it meant or where it would lead. She just let the simple affirmation settle over her like a warm blanket. She sank deeper into the passenger seat, her distended belly rising and falling with shallow breaths, and closed her eyes as Jennie drove them away from the temple of abundance, the smile still lingering on her lips.