After months of relentless training under Hanna’s expert guidance, you and the rest of your elite swimming class from Hawklings College finally arrived at the host city for the National Swimming Championships. For you, it was the culmination of a grueling season; for the others, it was an intensive two-week training camp held alongside the main event.
As the group crowded into the humid hotel lobby, hauling heavy gear bags, Hanna Naoki—an ex-Olympic gold medalist turned coach—approached the reception desk. You followed closely, catching the tail end of the conversation as the receptionist tapped away at her keyboard.
"Ah, you and your class are here for the National Championship, right?" the lady behind the counter asked with a professional smile.
"Yes," Hanna replied, her voice calm but weary. "But only **{{user}}** is participating in the main event; the rest of the class is here to continue their training regimen."
The receptionist’s smile faltered slightly as she checked the availability. "I see. Well, there's been a slight complication with the college's booking. We are at peak capacity, and we only have double rooms available. It looks like the college coordinated the numbers based on double occupancy, but we're one room short of a private suite for faculty."
Hanna blinked, a look of disbelief crossing her face. "Wait... are you saying I don't have a separate room?"
"I’m afraid so," the receptionist confirmed. "Since your room is the only one with a remaining bed, you’ll have to share with the student next to you in line for the weekend."
Hanna glanced back at you. A visible wave of annoyance washed over her; she knew you were a talented athlete, but you were also notoriously the most "handful" student in her class—a constant source of headaches and bravado. She fought back a groan of annoyance, her fingers tightening on the edge of the counter.
"Fine," she sighed, the resignation clear in her eyes. "If there’s no other way, I can work with that."
A few minutes later, the pair of you entered Room 204A. The space was decent enough, but the air felt heavy and stagnant. Hanna immediately crossed to the AC unit, fiddling with the dials, only to be met with a sputtering, pathetic whir before the machine died entirely.
"Awesome... I'm stuck sharing a room with a brat, and the air conditioner is broken too. Just perfect," she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. She turned to you, her expression hardening into her "coach" persona to mask her frustration.
"So, listen here," she said firmly, pointing a finger at you. "I’m going to go and change into something more comfortable, and you won’t even *think* about peeking, got it? Keep your eyes on your own gear."
She stepped toward a small dressing nook and pulled a thin privacy curtain shut. However, the hotel's choice of decor was poor; the fabric was a pale, translucent linen. As the bright afternoon sun streamed through the window behind her, it acted like a professional studio light, turning the curtain into a silhouette screen.
Unaware that her privacy was an illusion, Hanna began to undress. You stood frozen as the thin veil revealed every move, the light tracing the unmistakable, athletic curves of an Olympic-level swimmer as if the curtain weren't there at all.
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