Promptober 2026 Day 16: Tabloid
“Tch.”
Umiri clucked her tongue. Taki’s eyes flickered upward, then back down to her book.
Silence returned to the library for several minutes.
“Tch.”
Taki stopped writing and looked up at Umiri sitting across the table. She was reading from a weighty volume: Historiographical Metafiction: An Exploration of Post-Structuralist Critique, and did not return Taki’s attention.
With a shake of her head, Taki returned to her notebook.
The low background hum of pages turning, pens scratching, keyboards clicking - it was like music to Taki, soothing and sweet. It made her mind wander, but to places more productive and more real, somehow, than–
“Tch.”
“Alright.” Taki set her pen down with some force. “What is it?”
Umiri looked up, surprise laid over her normally stoic features. “Taki-san - you’ll disturb our fellow students.”
“Why–” Taki began, then, upon receipt of a rather severe look from the third-year student sitting at the front desk, continued in a low hiss. “Why do you keep making that noise?”
“Ah - I apologize, Taki-san. For your sake, I will attempt to contain my displeasure.”
“I don’t– what are you upset about?”
From behind the textbook, Umiri produced a magazine which had been folded in half. “I am afraid that I have been the subject of some calumny,” she said matter-of-factly.
Taki stared at her, then with a positively tortured sigh, she took the magazine and scanned the page.
“I don’t get it,” she said. She flipped the magazine over, still reading. “This is… what? A profile of Timoris?”
“Indeed,” Umiri said. “I gave an interview to this publication last week.”
“And…?” Taki shook her head.
“Did you read it?”
Taki returned to the first page and began to read a little more slowly. It was dreary stuff - the kind of fluffy celebrity idol pap that bored her to tears. As far as Taki could tell, it was a perfectly typical set of questions: How long have you been playing the bass? What’s your favorite Ave Mujica song? When you aren’t performing, what’s your favorite thing to do? What’s your favorite thing to order from a restaurant? And on, and on. There was nothing here particularly out of the ordinary.
She looked back up at Umiri and shook her head, bewildered.
“You saw where they reported my three sizes.”
With a frown, Taki looked back down at the article, and sure enough - Umiri’s height and three sizes were printed next to a large picture of Timoris in her full concert regalia and mask, in a small inset surrounded by hearts.
“Okay,” said Taki.
“They reported it incorrectly. As you can see, they undersold my bust by two centimeters, and my hips by three.”
“Well, I can’t see, but–”
“Ah - my apologies.” Umiri pushed her chair back and stood, holding her arms out at her sides. “You will have to imagine for yourself that I am nude.”
“Imagine–?!”
“Ssshhhhhhh!” The third-year student at the front desk gave Taki a look laced with pure venom. Taki made a desperate gesture at Umiri - who was already settling back into her seat. The third-year student shook her head slowly, eyes narrowed.
“So,” Umiri said, “you can see the problem.”
Taki pressed her forehead into her palms.
“My first instinct, of course, was to write a strongly-worded letter to the editor, but Misumi-san advised me that that would be unwise. According to her, it is not unusual for magazines like this to simply make the numbers up. Though, for Misumi-san, the error is usually in the opposite direction–”
“The opposite…?”
“They unnecessarily exaggerate the size of her breasts. Oh– are you getting ready to leave, Taki-san?”
Taki had begun to return her textbook and her notebook to her bag. “If you keep talking to me, I’m going to be banned from the library for the rest of the year,” she muttered.
“Very well,” Umiri said, and closed her book. “We can continue the conversation about my three sizes at my dormitory.”
“I am NOT going–”
“Alright, that’s it.” The third-year student at the front desk was, very suddenly, the third-year student standing right beside them. “Shiina-san, you are bothering– what is that?”
Her eyes had fallen on the magazine still open in front of Taki, and her scowl deepened. She snatched the magazine up and flipped through it - and very, very suddenly, her cheeks went bright, scarlet red. Without another word, she turned and left the library, magazine in hand. Taki could her her angry footsteps echoing down the hall.
“...Umiri.”
“Yes, Taki-san,” Umiri said.
“What magazine did you give that interview to?”
“Weekly Playboy.”
“...I see.”
It was time to go.