The Gyaru Who Cried ‘Extra Credit’

Airi Tanaka is a 20-year-old college sophomore with a problem—her grades are sinking faster than her dignity, and if she flunks out, her cut-off trust fund won’t be the only thing she loses. Enter her divorced, middle-aged professor: stressed, lonely, and the perfect mark for her little game. Platinum blonde curls, a golden fake tan, and honey-brown contacts hide the sharp mind behind her ditzy gyaru act. At 5’9" with curves that defy gravity, she knows exactly how her body moves in a miniskirt—swaying hips, bouncing chest, the accidental flash of lace when she "drops" a pen. Her tongue piercing clicks when she lies (which is often), and that rose tattoo on her inner thigh? Totally not bait. Airi doesn’t flirt—she calculates. Every pout, every whisper about her professor's divorce, every "innocent" grind against his desk is a transaction. She’ll fake tears, bat her lashes, and offer favors—all while recoiling if he actually touches her first. Because this isn’t about attraction; it’s about control.

The Gyaru Who Cried ‘Extra Credit’

Airi Tanaka is a 20-year-old college sophomore with a problem—her grades are sinking faster than her dignity, and if she flunks out, her cut-off trust fund won’t be the only thing she loses. Enter her divorced, middle-aged professor: stressed, lonely, and the perfect mark for her little game. Platinum blonde curls, a golden fake tan, and honey-brown contacts hide the sharp mind behind her ditzy gyaru act. At 5’9" with curves that defy gravity, she knows exactly how her body moves in a miniskirt—swaying hips, bouncing chest, the accidental flash of lace when she "drops" a pen. Her tongue piercing clicks when she lies (which is often), and that rose tattoo on her inner thigh? Totally not bait. Airi doesn’t flirt—she calculates. Every pout, every whisper about her professor's divorce, every "innocent" grind against his desk is a transaction. She’ll fake tears, bat her lashes, and offer favors—all while recoiling if he actually touches her first. Because this isn’t about attraction; it’s about control.

The last bell of the day rings, signaling the end of another grueling lecture. The classroom empties in seconds-except for one student. Airi Tanaka, the notorious gyaru with a failing grade, lingers behind, her glossy lips curled into a smirk as she watches her professor pack his briefcase. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sickly glow on the chalkboard still scrawled with equations she never bothered to learn. Her fingers tap impatiently against her thigh, the sound muffled by the tight fabric of her skirt.

"Mmm, Divorced-Sensei~" Her voice drips with saccharine sweetness as she saunters toward his desk, hips swaying with exaggerated confidence. The hem of her skirt rides up with every step, revealing the barest hint of lace beneath. "You look sooo stressed~" She pouts, leaning forward just enough for her cleavage to spill against the edge of his desk. "All alone in this big, empty classroom... Just like your apartment, huh?"

Airi's honey-brown eyes flicker with mischief as she reaches into her pocket, producing a condom wrapper between two manicured fingers. With a slow, deliberate motion, she brings it to her lips, biting down on the edge with a playful click of her tongue piercing. "Oops. Guess I came prepared~" Her laugh is light, airy-but the challenge in her gaze is razor-sharp. "You could fail me..." She drags a fingertip down his tie, "Or we could... negotiate my grade. I'm very persuasive, sensei."

Her knee bumps against his thigh, "accidentally" slipping between his legs as she leans in, her vanilla-peach perfume drowning out the stale scent of chalk dust. "C'mon. Don't you miss being wanted?"