"Holy cow," Max muttered, staring up at the girl in the doorway with a mix of awe and uncertainty. Just when he was starting to get his head around being three inches tall, the single biggest girl at Ventus was here to make him feel even smaller by comparison.

At 6'8" and 400 pounds, Ursa Kolossovna turned heads wherever she went. Her short, platinum-blonde hair, ice-blue eyes and ghostly pale complexion made her very hard to miss—and her huge breasts, immense ass, amazonian "strong-fat" figure and striking good looks didn't hurt, either. A running campus joke held that the triple-varsity Russian powerhouse was part polar bear, and as Max tried to process just how big she looked right now, that was the first thing that came into his mind.

Judging by her red sports bra, matching red compression shorts, red high-top powerlifting sneakers, and the subtle smell of sweat already following her into the common room, she'd just returned from the fitness center. Max had no clue what had brought her here just now, but he knew he couldn't waste the opportunity to get her attention. Sure, she was one of the most intimidating girls on campus—but there was no telling how long he'd be waiting for another chance at help once she left.

"H-hey!" Even shouting at the top of his lungs, Max had no clue whether his voice would carry to the other side of the room. "Ursa, r-right?"

"Chto za..." When the giant sophomore noticed the three-inch tall freshman on the coffee table, she raised an eyebrow. "A miniatyurnyy?"

Under the full brunt of Ursa'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. While still feminine and husky, her voice was just as deep and characteristically Slavic as Max had expected. "The English, I am working on. You are a... man-made-small, yes?"

"I... guess so?" Without taking his hands off his groin, Max managed a shrug. "Is that a thing?"

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

"I..." Suddenly just inches away from the Siberian amazon's ample chest, Max felt a familiar stiffness under his hands. "I don't know. I just kinda woke up like this. I guess there was a party here last night?"

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

"You were there?" Saying this, Max hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. So far, the Siberian amazon's subdued reaction to all of this made it hard to tell how much she really cared—although her apparent familiarity with shrunken people seemed like a good sign. "Was I there, too?"

"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, the resulting wave of varsity-strength body odor confirmed the other half of her "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. 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 a little—enough for Max's usual inability to talk to cute girls to kick back in. "Oh, I... y-yeah."

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

"Oh, uh... thanks," said Max, blushing. While this was pretty far from the nicest thing he'd ever heard from a member of the opposite sex, it seemed like a step in the right direction. "Say, uh... you don't happen to know how I might be able to get back to normal, do you?"

"Oh..." All at once, Ursa's face went somber—her usual facade of reserved coolness giving way to clear sympathy. "Nyet. For Miniatyurnyy, is no cure."

"N-no cure?" Max went white. If Ursa was telling the truth, his life had just changed forever. "Like... nothing?"

"Is not my field," said Ursa, offering a conciliatory shrug. "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 carrying him around an indeterminate amount of time was a pretty big step up from that.

"Come with me?" Ursa's tone made this more of a command than a question.

"H-huh?" As the Siberian amazon extended a huge hand down toward him, Max flinched. "With you?"

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

"I..." Looking up at his would-be guardian's hand, Max found himself nodding. Based on everything this day had already thrown at him, he was hard-pressed to turn down the support of someone this big, powerful, and seemingly good-natured—assuming she meant what she said. "Okay."

Taking a few tentative steps onto Ursa's palm, which seemed big enough to 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. The experience of being carried so effortlessly by someone so much bigger than him only served to amplify the surreal power imbalance between them.

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

"Yeah, s-sure," said Max, struggling to stay upright as Ursa raised her hand off the table. "Where to?"

"First, my room." Again, Ursa smiled. "Here, I hide you for the walk."

Before the shrunken freshman could ask the Siberian amazon what she meant, she brought him freshman up to her sports bra and stuffed him down into her cleavage—and 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 instantly 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 admiration for her raw physical power. When she'd first arrived in the US, she'd relished this sort of silent deference—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 with objectively better accommodations were the spoiled rich e-girls in Fortuna. Of course, Ursa wasn't the envious type; compared to her previous "dorm," the bottom bunk at a spartan all-girls sports academy in Yakutsk, the room was everything she could ever want and more.

As Max felt Ursa stepping into her room and heard the door slam behind her, the air got noticeably chillier—and when she pried him out of her bra a second later, he understood why. On top of all the room's existing creature comforts, she'd added a pair of expensive-looking box air conditioners to the windows on the far side of the space. Both were cranked to full blast, creating an environment at least 20 degrees colder than the rest of the dorm. Emerging from the cramped, sweaty confines of the giant sophomore's cleavage was like stepping out of a sauna into the Siberian tundra.

The second thing Max noticed about Ursa's room was the decor, which was far from standard-issue. The walls were covered with fancy-looking pink and white filigree wallpaper and several framed prints of women wearing frilly dresses, and the floor was a similar story—blanketed with several swirling pink carpets and boxes of shoes. Her desk and bedframe 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?"

"What?" 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!"

"Is nice of you to say," said Ursa, clearly relieved. "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 blushed 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. While he did indeed find Ursa very attractive, he'd 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 Max had been more assertive or naturally charismatic, 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 giant rescuer chuckled. "You are funny one. Now, we go again?"

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