"H-hey!" Even shouting at the top of his lungs, Max's voice barely carried to the other side of the room. "Ursa, r-right?"

When the giant sophomore noticed the three-inch tall freshman sitting on the coffee table, she raised an eyebrow. "Chto za..." While still feminine and husky, her voice was just as deep and characteristically Slavic as Max had expected. "A miniatyurnyy?"

Under the full brunt of the Siberian amazon's piercing gaze, Max winced. Then, remembering his nakedness, he hurriedly cupped a hand over his groin. "Mini-what?"

"Apology," said Ursa, stepping over to the coffee table. "The English, I am working on. You are a... man-made-small, yes?"

"I... guess so?" While Max had no idea what Ursa was talking about, it seemed like she'd seen — or at least heard of — stuff like this before. "Is that a thing?"

Ursa nodded. "At home. Toys for the oligarkhi. But never here..." She sat down beside the coffee table, which still left her at a considerable height advantage compared to Max. "How you become small?" 

Suddenly just inches away from Ursa's ample chest, Max blushed. "I don't know. I just kinda woke up like this... but I can't remember how I got here. I guess there was a party here last night?"

"Many people here," said Ursa, nodding. "Very loud."

"You were there?" Saying this, Max tried his best not to sound as desperate as he was. So far, the Siberian amazon's subdued reaction to his whole predicament made it hard to tell how much she cared about any of this. "Was I?" 

"Nyet. Parties, not for me." She raised both arms over her head for a big stretch and yawned. "I sleep." 

As the giant sophomore exposed her pits, Max was blasted with a wave of varsity-strength body odor. Suppressing the urge to gag, he remembered the other part of Ursa's "polar bear" reputation. After spending the first 18 years of her life in Siberia, any temperature north of 60 degrees Fahrenheit tended to leave her seriously sweaty—and in sunny Southern California, that meant she was seriously sweaty 24/7.

"Oh," he said, suppressing the urge to gag. "Gotcha."

Seeing the shrunken freshman's clear distress, Ursa lowered her arms and frowned. "Your name. What is?"

"Me?" Max hesitated. "Max?"

"You say this as question." The Siberian amazon smiled, flashing a row of sharp white teeth. "Are you sure?"

"Huh?" By this point, the initial surrealism of this whole situation was starting to wear off—enough for Max's usual inability to talk to cute girls to kick back in. "Oh, I... y-yeah."

Ursa chuckled. "You make me laugh. Like little clown."

"Oh..." All at once, Ursa's face went somber. "Nyet."

Max went white. "What?"

"For Miniatyurnyy," said Ursa, her usual facade of reserved coolness giving way to visible sympathy. "Is no cure."

"Is not my field." Ursa shrugged. "Maybe in States, is different. But in Rossiya? Nyet."

For a moment, the common room was silent—mostly because Max had no idea what to say. Could he ask Ursa to help him find a way to get him back to normal? She said she liked him, but looking after him for an indeterminate amount of time was a pretty big step up from that. 

"Come with me?" Judging by Ursa's tone, this was more of a command than a question.

"H-huh?" Snapped out of his internal monologue, Max found the Siberian amazon extending one of her huge hands down toward him. "With you?"

"To be a miniatyurnyy, is hard life." Again, Ursa shrugged. "I look after you."

"I..." Again, Max hesitated. Based on everything this day had already thrown at him, he was hard-pressed to turn down the support of someone as big, powerful, and seemingly good-natured as Ursa—assuming she meant what she said. "Okay."

Taking a few tentative steps onto Ursa's palm, which seemed big enough to easily carry half a dozen guys his size, he settled into a sitting position. The skin on her hand was heavily callused, doubtlessly the product of whatever relentless fitness regimen kept her looking the way she did, but still smooth and soft. 

"Is comfortable?" Cradling her fingers around her three-inch-tall passenger, Ursa stood up. "We go?" 

Max nodded. "Yeah, s-sure. Where to?"

"First," said Ursa, "my room. I hide you for the walk." 

Before Max could ask her what she meant, the Siberian amazon brought the tiny freshman up to her sports bra and stuffed him down into her cleavage. 

If Max had thought that Ursa's BO was bad before, the inside of her bra was a completely different story. Smothered between her huge, soft breasts, blanketed in a thick layer of boob sweat, he was overwhelmed by heat, pressure and smell. In the face of all that, the fact that it was also his first time touching a girl's breasts felt like a very small consolation prize. 

With her miniatyurnyy secured, Ursa headed out into the hallway and began the walk back to her room. The few housemates she saw on the way greeted her with the usual respectful nod, barely able to conceal their awe at the raw power she radiated at all times. When she'd first arrived in the US, she'd relished this blend of silent deference and awe—although she'd come to resent it by the end of her freshman year. Being admired by her peers was one thing, but the way they looked at her sometimes made her feel like a freak.

After quickly distinguishing herself as one of the top athletes at Ventus during her first semester, Ursa had been upgraded from a standard double room to a deluxe single suite. With her own ensuite bathroom, plenty of space to spread out, and no roommate to share it with, the only people on campus whose accommodations rivaled hers were the spoiled rich e-girls in Fortuna—although Ursa wasn't the envious type. Compared to her teenage years at a spartan all-girls sports academy in Yakutsk, the room was everything she could ever want and more.

As Max felt his giant guardian stepping into her room and heard the door close behind them, the air got noticeably colder. When Ursa reached into her bra to pry him out, he understood why. Her room was at least twenty degrees colder than the rest of the dorm, with two expensive-looking box air conditioners running at full blast in both of her windows. Going from the cramped, sweaty confines of her cleavage to the open air was like stepping out of a sauna into the Siberian tundra—and somehow, that was the least interesting thing about the place. 

The second thing Max noticed about Ursa's room was the decor, which clearly wasn't standard-issue. The walls were covered with fancy-looking pink and white filigree wallpaper and several framed prints of women wearing frilly dresses. The floor was a similar story—blanketed with several swirling pink carpets and boxes of shoes. Her desk and bedframe both looked like the ones in his room, but she'd swapped out her chair for a hot pink swivel stool, and her sheets and pillows were just as stereotypically girly. Beside her desk, a large mannequin dummy — seemingly made to Ursa's exact scale — hosted what looked like a half-made pink ballgown. 

"Whoa," said Max. "What's your major again?" 

When Max looked up at Ursa, he found her blushing. "...Fashion design."

Max's eyes went wide. While he wasn't sure what he'd imagined Ursa doing outside of her contributions to the school's sports teams, he wasn't expecting this. "Really?" 

Ursa winced. "Is... bad thing?"

"No!" Frantically waving his hands, Max managed to dislodge a good amount of the boob sweat still clinging to his shrunken form. "Not bad! Really cool!"

Ursa breathed a sigh of relief. "Is nice of you to say. Many men here, they see me, they think, big, tough, scary. Is not so much true." She smiled. "Reason I like you."

Still sitting in the Siberian amazon's hand, Max found himself blushing back. "Me?"

"Da. The way you look at me now. This is not scared. This is, what is the word..." She scowled. "Crush?"

Max swallowed hard, unable to keep his eyes from wandering down to Ursa's formidable thunder thighs. "C-crush?"

"On me." She flashed another sharp-toothed grin. "You have one, yes?"

"I..." Max froze. This was shaping up to be the single weirdest day of his life. Obviously, Ursa was very attractive. He'd just never considered her 'girlfriend material'—mostly because he'd always assumed she was way out of his league. Now, though, she seemed to be sending him some serious signals to the contrary. "Y-yeah, a little bit."

If he had been a more assertive or naturally charismatic person, he might have followed this up by asking if Ursa felt the same way about him. As it was, though, he simply forced a smile and anxiously scratched the back of his head. Witnessing the shrunken 18-year-old virgin's total lack of game in action, his Siberian amazon rescuer chuckled. "You are funny one. Now, we go?"

Still a little dazed from the confession Ursa had just coaxed out of him, Max blinked. "Go? Where?"