In the darkness of his sleep, Makoto Naegi was plagued by phantom pains running through his body as he curled up in bed - haunted by a nightmare that caused him to break out into a cold sweat.
He had been trapped in this school for a week now, in this unwilling "killing game" with what were practically celebrities and strangers. He remembered how lucky he felt getting accepted into Hope's Peak, as if he were the ultimate lucky student, however that luck no longer seemed to be in his favor. He could die at any moment, and worse yet he felt like there was something in his mind…missing.
At the very least, Makoto had the comfort of his fellow classmate Sayaka to keep him company. However, in his nightmare-fueled haze, the thought of the idol girl filled him with dread…
In this dream, he was positioned on a massive cloth that stretched out for at least a kilometer in each direction. Fuzzballs of lint the size of mountains surrounded him, as he looked around in awe.in the distance, a gigantic mirror towered high into the heavens, the room lit by lightbulbs on the mirror's perimeter that burned like miniature suns. Despite the surreality and impossibility of this situation, his hazy mind quickly rationalized that he must be tiny in some sort of makeup room.
"How did I get here…?" Was the only question the young man asked himself, as he tried to navigate through the weaving threads of his newfound home. He did not think to even question his size, nor where 'here' even was. In the distance, he could hear the roars of a crowd as speakers blared the voices of several girls singing along with one another.
Makoto traversed for what felt like hours, the songs and cheers having long ended. Alone in the field of fuzzy mountains and massive root-like bridges of thread. Yet, this didn't feel weird- it was his life now. Had it always been like this? Was he always a speck compared to the long strands of flakey dust that hovered in the air above him, illuminated by the flickering suns of the mirror? His brain couldn't think of an answer to this question- and was instead distracted by a sudden noise. Outside the door obscured by the fogginess of distance, a high pitched but booming voice could be made out…
"I'll see you tomorrow first thing in the morning, Satomi!! I have to freshen up first!"
Opening the door, his former classmate - Sayaka Maizono - walks in. The gust of wind from the door swinging open makes its way to the rag - sending the tiny boy tumbling back to the center where he had started. Dazed and confused, he looks up to see the looming figure of the idol walk up to the table - each step of her pure white knee-high boots seemingly shaking the world. The idol was drenched in sweat from the intense dance choreography of her set tonight.
Makoto was in utter shock of her beauty, even when sweaty and exhausted. Sweat had trickled down her face, culminating in a single droplet at the bottom of her lower lip that was most comparable to a lake. The dark blue hair that contrasted with her pink, sleeveless lolita dress, had become strandy and messy - sweat literally dripping off of it onto the floor around her from the tips of her hair. As she loomed over the table, sweat began to downpour like a meteor shower around Makoto - who was too petrified by the gargantuan girl to move a single muscle.
As a single droplet of sweat dripped down off her face, it landed several meters away from the miniscule boy. The hot brackish liquid splashed in every direction as the threads barely managed to soak it all up. For Makoto, this splash not only shook the foundation of the white thread he called home, but caused a downpour of offshoot sweat droplets the size of his head to rain down. He cowered in fear, as the warm rain splattered on his head - drenching his hair and face in the salty excretion. He let out a little cry as he closed his eyes, trying to wipe the sweat off his face before it stung them. While his eyes remained safe, his mouth and nose could not avoid the rundown - the liquid stained his tongue and burned his nostrils.
Makoto felt as if he were being assaulted by a microcosm of salt and body odor in liquid form - coughing violently to get the taste of the acidic fluid out of his mouth, and more importantly out of his nose. He still wasn't able to fully comprehend that it wasn't even a sweat droplet, but a miniscule portion of one, that had ended up completely drenching his upper half.
Did she know he was there? How could he ever hope to get her attention? Despite his fear of her looming presence, the fear of getting her attention didn't seem to bother him nearly as much.
Meanwhile, the tired girl sighed before putting on a smile, staring at the rag. Makoto's mind was screaming a variety of conflicting things at him as he stared up in awe, fear, and…adoration. From this perspective he seemed to see her in a light that had never crossed his mind before…
"Oh Makoto~" she giggled, her eyes locking onto him in the center of the rag. "The show was once again phenomenal, thanks to you!"
Makoto felt as if he had been dropped into the middle of the narrative. He felt that he should have so many questions to ask, but when he opened his mouth no words came out. Instead, his whole world shook - sending him tumbling across the threads as Sayaka slipped her palm under the center of the rag and lifted it up to her smiling face.
"I'm so happy to have you in my life, Makoto. The way your luck rubs off on me…"
Her hot breath washed over him, causing him to perspire himself as her booming words sent him tumbling back in the opposite direction. He coughed on the overbearing scent of her breath - the vagueness of a mint freshness from hours ago that had slowly deteriorated into the after-scent of her hot breath.
"Now speaking of 'rub', I think its time for our nightly ritual, don't you?"
Makoto was again confused, unsure of what she could possibly mean. "Our…what?"
Almost as if she could hear him, she laughed and responded immediately, "Oh, don't tell me my lucky little sweat rag forgot his place? Well if that's the case, let me lead you back home…"
Lowering the rag, he could feel the gravity around him almost lower with his sudden descent. Looking up in the sky, Sayaka's side filled his view. He watched in awe as she lifted her arm up, exposing the literally steaming pit to the cool air of her dressing room. A thick fog obscured his vision, the details of her smooth, waxed pit being fuzzy and hard to make out through the literal cloud that was emitting from her hot skin. What he could make out were droplets of sweat running down her pit and the side of her torso…
Even from comparatively kilometers away, the smell of BO wafted its way down to the rag, making her hot breath nothing but a joke in comparison to the power of her pit's scent. It was far more powerful than the sweat from her head could have led him to believe - his throat tightening and constricting as he gagged. The mere musk of her body was enough to burn at his olfactory senses and make his eyes water. The air was thick, suffocating the miniscule boy as pained gasps only made the burning sensations worse - and they did nothing to reprieve his lungs.
"C-can't…breathe…" he muttered painfully, on his hands and knees tightly gripping the thread he sat upon. The heavy, pungent air that choked him was thick enough he could practically bite it, and taste it on his tongue. It was acrid and acidic, his stomach doing flips at the idea of such a powerful smell. All the while, sweatdrops the size of mountains were raining down all around him
Not given any time to adjust to this new atmosphere, he felt the entire world shift as the fleshy sky grew bigger and bigger - the g-forces of being raised up forcefully collapsing his body onto the thread he has clung onto. In the blink of an eye, he was in the thick fog that had previously been comparable to clouds to him - the heat and stench rising in intensity - and in another blink he had been smushed into a searing wall of flesh and boiling sweat.
With little effort, Sayaka gently patted at her pit - but for Makoto it was a natural disaster as she carelessly shoved him deep into a miniscule crevice of her waxed pit, her skin surrounding his body as the hot sauna of sweat and flesh practically boiled him alive. He felt the gravity of his world shift as she pulled the rag away, leaving him stuck to her pit as the rag that was once below him raised far away into his perspective sky - threads dripping and soaked in her sweat. Standing up to try and escape, he was only able to slip and slide across the canyon of her armpit's fold, her deadly sweat threatening to drown him as he slipped into a droplette she had missed.
His vision was growing blurry, lungs screaming in pain from the lack of fresh air, his throat burning from the scalding brackish salt, his body exhausted by the unbearable conditions of his friend's pit. As he struggled to stay conscious, his entire world shook violently as she lowered her arm, plunging Makoto in a deep darkness as the immense pressure of her arm folding over was enough to knock him out….
Makoto awoke with a gasp, sitting up as he struggled to catch his breath. His nightwear was drenched in his cold sweat, sticking to his body as he hyperventilated. As his breathing slowed, he looked down to take notice of the twitching bulge between his legs. Confused and embarrassed, he blushed at the realization that as horrific as that nightmare was, something about its content was arousing. He was concerned that analyzing his arousal any further may reveal something about himself he'd rather not discover.
Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, as he stared down the length of his bed past his legs, something seemed off. The bed stretched on for eternity, like a neverending plain of cloth.
"A-am…Am I still dreaming…?"
A lump began to form in his throat, and before he could ponder the situation any further, the loud distinct sound of his doorknob turning jolted him out of his thoughts as the door creaked open….