Nobody Marries a Fat Girl
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 1: Gentle Eyes
Brad Jamison had been at Osaka University’s International School for three months before he really noticed her.
It wasn’t that she was invisible—quite the opposite. At six feet tall with blonde hair and blue eyes, Brad had grown accustomed to standing out on a Japanese campus. But this girl, this quiet presence with long dark hair and a pretty face, seemed to move through the halls like she was trying to disappear.
The first time he truly saw her was in the main corridor between classes. She walked with her head down, books clutched to her chest, when three girls passed her going the opposite direction. Brad’s Japanese was good enough to catch what they said as they brushed past.
“Debu.” Fat.
The girl—he didn’t know her name yet—didn’t react. Didn’t flinch, didn’t look up. Just kept walking like she hadn’t heard, though the slight hunch of her shoulders told him she had.
Brad frowned, watching her disappear around the corner. She wasn’t fat. Not by any American standard he knew. She was just ... normal. Maybe a little curvy, but hell, in the States she’d be completely unremarkable. Pretty, even.
The second time was in the cafeteria two weeks later. Brad was grabbing lunch between his international finance and business law classes when he spotted her sitting alone at a corner table. She had her textbook open, picking at her food without much interest. Around her, tables full of students laughed and talked, but a buffer of empty seats surrounded her like a moat.
A group of girls walked past her table. One of them said something Brad didn’t quite catch, but the others laughed. The girl with the dark hair kept her eyes on her textbook, but her hand stilled on her chopsticks.
Brad felt something twist in his gut. His sister Emma dealt with this shit back home. She was 5’9” and took after their dad’s build—solid, athletic, what their mom called “statuesque.” But Emma heard “fat” and let it eat at her, no matter how many times Brad told her she was gorgeous.
Seeing this stranger endure the same casual cruelty made his jaw tighten.
The third time was in their Advanced Accounting class. Brad usually sat toward the middle, but he’d arrived late that day and had to take one of the few remaining seats—right next to her.
“Sorry,” he said, settling into the chair.
She glanced at him, startled, then quickly looked away. “It’s okay.”
Her voice was soft, almost apologetic for existing.
Professor Tanaka launched into a lecture on international tax law, and Brad tried to focus, but he found himself aware of the girl beside him. She took meticulous notes, her handwriting small and precise. She didn’t fidget, didn’t whisper to anyone, didn’t check her phone. Just absorbed the lecture like she was afraid to miss a single word.
When class ended, she gathered her things quickly and left before Brad could even consider saying anything.
But after that, he saw her everywhere. Not because she was suddenly more present, but because he’d started paying attention. He saw her in the library, always alone. In the computer lab, claiming a corner station. In the halls, navigating the crowds with her head down and her shoulders curved inward, as if she could make herself smaller.
And he saw how other students treated her.
Not everyone—most people ignored her completely. But there were enough casual cruelties that it became a pattern Brad couldn’t unsee. A deliberate shoulder check in the hallway. Whispers and giggles when she passed. The way certain girls would look her up and down with barely concealed disdain.
The worst was a guy in one of Brad’s elective classes—Kenji something, a business major who thought he was hot shit. Brad overheard him talking to his friends one day, loud enough that the girl would hear as she walked past.
“I’d rather die single than date a girl who looks like she ate all the mochi in Osaka.”
His friends laughed. The girl kept walking, but Brad saw her hands tighten on her bag straps.
Brad had been raised better than to let that slide. “Hey, asshole,” he called out in Japanese. “How about you shut the fuck up?”
Kenji turned, surprised that the American had understood—and apparently spoken. But Brad’s expression made him think twice about responding. He muttered something and turned away.
It wasn’t enough. Brad knew it wasn’t enough. Because the problem wasn’t just Kenji—it was the entire culture that made it acceptable to treat someone like this girl as less-than just because she didn’t fit some arbitrary ideal.
By the sixth week of the semester, Brad had learned her name: Suki Yakamura. He’d overheard a professor calling on her in their shared accounting class. She’d answered in that same soft, careful voice, and her answer had been completely correct.
Smart, Brad thought. Pretty. Kind, if the way she always held doors for people behind her was any indication. So why the hell was she being treated like she didn’t deserve basic human decency?
He’d been working up the nerve to talk to her—really talk to her, not just a classroom “excuse me” or “could I borrow your notes?”—when the cafeteria incident happened.
It was a Thursday, just after noon. Brad was in line getting his lunch when he spotted Suki across the cafeteria, carrying her tray toward an empty table in the back corner. She moved carefully, watching her feet, navigating between chairs and backpacks with the precision of someone who’d learned to make herself as unobtrusive as possible.
She almost made it.
A girl Brad recognized from campus—one of the ones who’d made snide comments before—was walking in the opposite direction. As they passed each other, the girl’s hand shot out and knocked Suki’s tray from below.
Food went everywhere. Rice scattered across the floor. Miso soup splashed across Suki’s shirt and jeans. The plastic tray clattered loudly enough that half the cafeteria turned to look.
Laughter erupted from the girl’s table.
“Gomen ne,” the girl said, her apology dripping with false sweetness. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going, debu-chan.”
Suki stood frozen, soup dripping from her clothes, staring at the mess on the floor. Her face had gone pale except for two bright spots of red on her cheeks. She dropped to her knees and started gathering the scattered items with shaking hands.
Nobody helped her. Students stepped around her, some laughing, others just watching with that detached curiosity people show when they witness someone else’s humiliation.
Brad’s tray hit the nearest table with a bang.
He crossed the cafeteria in long strides, his anger a hot thing in his chest. The girl who’d knocked the tray was already walking away, laughing with her friends.
“Oi,” Brad called out, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Sore wa jiko janakatta.” That wasn’t an accident.
The cafeteria went quiet. Students turned to stare at the tall American who’d just called someone out in fluent Japanese.
The girl turned around, her smirk faltering when she saw Brad’s expression.
“Ayamatte,” Brad said flatly. Apologize.
“It was an accident—”
“No, it wasn’t. I saw you. Everyone saw you.” Brad’s blue eyes were hard. “Apologize to her. Now.”
The girl looked around, realizing that the attention had shifted from Suki’s humiliation to her own behavior. Her friends had gone quiet, suddenly interested in their phones.
“Gomen nasai,” she muttered, not looking at Suki.
“Louder.”
“Gomen nasai!” The girl’s face flushed, and she turned and fled, her friends scattering after her.
Brad turned to Suki, who was still kneeling on the floor, frozen with a handful of napkins. He knelt beside her and started helping gather the mess.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, switching to English.
Suki didn’t answer. She just kept picking up pieces of food with mechanical movements, her hands still shaking.
Brad positioned himself between her and the rest of the cafeteria, blocking the view of the gawkers. “Hey. Look at me.”
She didn’t.
“Please?”
Finally, slowly, Suki raised her eyes to his. They were dark and wide and filled with a humiliation so deep it made Brad’s chest ache. But they were also—even in this moment—the gentlest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Let’s get out of here,” Brad said.
He stood and offered his hand. Suki stared at it for a long moment, like she couldn’t quite believe it was real. Then, hesitantly, she placed her smaller hand in his.
Brad pulled her to her feet, ignoring the whispers starting up around them. He kept hold of her hand—she didn’t pull away—and led her out of the cafeteria, leaving the mess and the stares behind.
Outside, the autumn air was crisp and clean. Suki pulled her hand free and wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the ground. Her shirt was stained with soup, her hair disheveled.
“There’s a place just off campus,” Brad said. “Small restaurant. Let me buy you lunch.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” When she didn’t respond, Brad added gently, “Please? I’m starving, and I really don’t want to go back in there right now.”
That got a tiny, startled laugh from her. It was a broken sound, but it was something.
“Okay,” she whispered.
They walked in silence to the small restaurant Brad had mentioned. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall places that students frequented, cheap and cheerful with mismatched chairs and faded posters on the walls. At this hour, it was mostly empty.
Brad gestured to a table in the back corner, away from the windows. Suki sank into a chair like her legs wouldn’t hold her anymore.
The owner, an elderly woman who’d grown fond of Brad over the past few months, came over with a warm smile. “Irasshaimase! Oh, Brad-kun, your usual?”
“Hai, please. And—” He glanced at Suki, who was staring at her hands. “What do you like?”
“I’m not very hungry—”
“You didn’t eat lunch. Humor me?”
Suki finally looked up at the owner and ordered something simple—katsudon and green tea. The owner bustled away, and silence settled over the table.
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