Macan considers himself the most successful hunter now, and with results like these, who can argue? If you want to see what we've got going this month already, you can check out Big Stories here: https://www.patreon.com/bigstories

As always, thanks for the support, and we hope you enjoy!

Art ©  silver-stag

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Macan couldn't get over just how easy being a sumo was. He should have left the gladiator racket ages ago, the sumo life was perfect for him! He had not been beaten once since he came here, he had still attained his hunter's glory in the arena, and now, the entire stable was afraid of him; just how he liked it. He could smell the fear coming off these puny, so-called sumo- but lately, a much stronger scent came from the kitchens, drawing him in. The tiger therian had truly given up his quest to eat those he beat- symbolically eating them through their rations worked much better. And now, they were so scared of him, they would just forfeit all their matches, which worked just fine for Macan- more time to eat! Steaming noodle bowls as big as wagon wheels, rice balls as big as his head, sushi, ramen, udon, and as much sake and sweets as he could stomach to wash it all down, after each and every fight.

This constant stream of victory feasts for literally effortless matches, however, had taken their toll; Macan's bulbous, ever-hungry belly had grown truly gigantic. There were Tokyo apartments smaller than his great, roiling gut, a practical sea of blubber that spilled out far past the rest of his body, smothering his legs, and dominating the outline of his body. His trunk-sized legs and chunky thighs were splayed out, partially submerged under his belly and now near-useless, as Macan certainly wasn't moving anytime soon. His tail, even, had fattened up, when it wasn't being swallowed by his titanic rear. What appeared to be two enormous rice bags laid listlessly atop his belly, the remains of a once mighty chest- his thickly swaddled arms held all the strength he had left, just enough to hoist up bigger and bigger plates to his hungry maw, ringed as it was in multiple chins and balloon-sized cheeks.

The tiger's pride kept him from slowing down on his meals or leaving any plate uneaten- he was a hunter, after all, and he was enjoying the spoils of victory! Of course, with him practically living in the kitchens now, his "hunts" were little more than barking demands at the cooks. The fact he also couldn't chase after any prey was a mere technicality. Ashigara and the others breathed a sigh of relief; they had a colossal food bill to contend with, but with Macan fat and happy, some semblance of peace returned to the stable.