Chapter 507: Shasa and the Great Breast Confusion

Shasa and the Great Breast Confusion

"Ah, so cute...!"

"She’s pouting! Look, she’s actually pouting!"

"Little Shasa, don’t be angry! We just can’t help ourselves!"

Not only did her reaction fail to make them stop their teasing, but it seemed to pour oil on an already blazing fire. The women crowded closer, their laughter like wind chimes in the afternoon air, their fingers reaching for those round cheeks with renewed determination.

Shasa felt uncomfortable. The touches came from everywhere—gentle, yes, but overwhelming in their quantity and persistence. She squirmed, trying to maintain her dignity while also trying to escape.

Then she glanced up.

And froze.

Maya was flying over.

The older woman descended from the sky like a celestial being returning to the mortal realm, her sky-blue robes billowing around her in the wind, her long blue hair streaming behind her like a banner of silk. The sunlight caught the fabric of her robes, making the lotus patterns shimmer and dance.

But Shasa noticed none of these details.

Her gaze had locked onto something else entirely.

So big.

The word echoed in her mind with the force of a thunderclap. Maya’s chest—those two perfect, full mounds of flesh that pressed against the silk of her robes—seemed to dominate the very air around her. The fabric stretched taut across their surface, dipping and curving in ways that seemed almost impossible. They were, without question, the largest breasts Shasa had ever seen in her entire life.

And she had seen quite a few in the cultivation world, where diets rich in spiritual energy often produced bountiful harvests in more ways than one.

They’re so big. So round. So... full.

Then her gaze drifted to the women surrounding her—her senior sisters Selena and Rias, and all the other female disciples who had been poking her cheeks moments before. Their chests, too, were substantial. Not quite as massive as Maya’s, perhaps, but still full and heavy-looking, pressing against their robes with a weight that seemed almost burdensome.

They all have big chests too.

Shasa swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

She tugged at Selena’s sleeve with urgent fingers, pointing at the approaching Maya with wide eyes.

"Wow, Senior Sister," she whispered, her voice carrying that particular blend of wonder and confusion that only the truly innocent could produce, "was this person beaten up? Why is her chest so swollen and big? She looks like a female fatty on chest only. Fat in the chest..."

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the other women gathered around her.

"And these beautiful sisters are also big swell on chest..."

Selena’s face darkened like a storm cloud rolling across a summer sky.

She reached out and knocked Shasa on the head with her knuckles—not hard enough to truly hurt, but firm enough to make her point. The sound echoed softly in the suddenly quiet courtyard.

This little fellow. She really dared to say anything. What fat woman? What nonsense. Countless women across the cultivation world would commit unspeakable acts for a figure like Maya’s—the envy of goddesses, the dream of immortals. And here Shasa was, calling her fat?

The little brat didn’t know anything.

She doesn’t understand the first thing about being a woman, Selena thought, her eye twitching slightly. She’s probably never even thought about such things before. To her, a woman’s body is just... a body. Something practical. Something that functions.

Which, in fairness, was rather refreshing. In a world where women schemed and fought and sometimes killed over beauty and figure, Shasa remained blissfully unaware of the social battlefield that existed around her.

Perhaps I should be grateful for her innocence.

But that didn’t make the current situation any less embarrassing.

Selena hoped—prayed, really—that Maya hadn’t heard. But the slight twitch at the corner of the older woman’s eye suggested otherwise.

Before Selena could properly discipline the girl, a blur of motion caught her attention.

Crack!

Rias had stepped forward, her red hair streaming like flames behind her, and delivered her own judgment upon Shasa’s head. Her red eyes flashed with a mixture of mortification and exasperation.

"Little Junior Sister! What are you saying?!"

Shasa cried out after being knocked a second time, her hands flying to the top of her head. Her watery eyes—those deep, innocent blue pools—filled with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. She felt very wronged.

Why do they keep hitting me? What did I do wrong?

Her senior sisters had hit her. Twice. For saying something she truly believed was an honest observation.

The injustice of it made her chest ache with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

She turned around, looking up at Selena with eyes that shimmered with unshed tears, seeking comfort, seeking explanation, seeking anything that might help her understand what she’d done wrong.

And her eyes lit up.

Because from this angle, she now had a clear view of her senior sister’s chest, and those breasts—

So big. Senior Sister’s are so big too!

"Wow," she breathed, her earlier sadness forgotten in the face of this new discovery, "Senior Sister’s chest is so big too."

Then, with all the earnest helpfulness of a child offering to fix a broken toy, she added: "Senior Sister, who made you swell up your chest? Tell me, I’ll help you beat that guy up."

Selena rolled her eyes so hard she might have strained something. The gesture was followed by a look of such profound exhaustion that it seemed to age her by decades.

How do I explain this?

The question echoed in her mind with no satisfactory answer. How did one explain the mysteries of womanhood to an eighteen-year-old who thought the natural development of the female form was caused by injury?

How did one bridge the gap between Shasa’s world of battle and training and simple practicalities, and the world that everyone else inhabited—a world of beauty and desire and the complex dance between the sexes?

Before Selena could formulate a response, Rias hurried forward, her earlier frustration softening into something gentler—a teacher’s patience for a particularly slow pupil.

"Little Junior Sister," she said, kneeling down so she could meet Shasa’s eyes at her level, "this is Teacher’s senior sister. According to seniority, we still have to call her Guardian Elder."