Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 31: commitment

Myra rolled her eyes, her brown hair sticking to her sweaty neck.

Viora snorted, her green hair swaying, her hazel eyes glinting.

"If Nellie can hit a target, I’m not sitting this out. This is sketchy but I choose to believe it for now" Her tone was grudging, but her presence screamed commitment.

The afternoon was filled with raw, messy effort.

Chalk beads sailed toward practice targets, some hitting with a satisfying thwack, others veering wildly into the grass.

Eva shouted corrections, her voice sharp as she adjusted Nellie’s wrist, her fingers brushing Nellie’s skin, making her blush and stammer, "O-Okay,!" Olivia critiqued Viora’s stance, her hands guiding Viora’s shoulders, their bodies close enough to make Viora’s cheeks flush.

Myra grumbled but adjusted her posture, her bead glowing briefly before popping, drawing a curse and a laugh.

Nellie’s cautious optimism shone, her beads hitting closer to the target each time, her thick thighs steady under her skirt.

Lor, naturally, put on the worst display—his spells missing wildly, his mana sputtering like a damp firecracker.

He panted with mock effort, stumbling dramatically, until Eva grabbed his wrist, her green eyes flashing.

"Even for a fake, that was embarrassing," she muttered, her breath grazing his ear as she positioned his fingers, her curvy figure pressed close.

Olivia joined in, aligning his shoulders, her blouse straining as she leaned in, her scent of sweet perfume mixing with the grassy air.

Lor let himself flush just enough to stay in character, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement.

He was the loser, the burden, the useless boy at the bottom.

Yet they listened when he spoke, their eyes lingering on him.

Eva’s corrections were sharp but patient, Olivia’s critiques laced with grudging respect.

Viora smirked at his quips, Myra laughed at his dry remarks, and Nellie beamed when he nodded at her progress, her braids bouncing.

By sunset, sweat gleamed on their skin, their spells flew straighter, and the air had shifted.

Their uniforms clung to their curves—Eva’s skirt riding high, Olivia’s pants outlining her hips, Nellie’s blouse straining over her big ass, Viora and Myra’s skirts flashing lace with every move.

The field buzzed with their effort, their laughter, their growing confidence.

Not quite triumph.

Not yet.

But hope.

___________

The next morning.

Air in Class D hung heavy with tension—not just anticipation for the looming interclass assessment, but the quiet friction of a class fracturing into factions.

Miss Silvia entered with a stack of spell focus beads, her step sharp with newfound determination.

Her white jacket was spotless, her auburn hair tied in a tighter bun than usual, her glasses gleaming like twin blades in the morning light.

Her heels clicked crisply across the warped floorboards, her pencil skirt hugging her voluptuous curves, a faint scorch mark from a past spell barely visible at the hem.

She radiated an effort to appear competent, to bridge the gap between her teaching and Class D’s apathy, even if just for today.

She placed a bead on each desk, her eyes meeting each student’s with deliberate intensity.

"Focus is everything," she said, tapping her wand against the chalkboard, where a chalk-drawn circle marked a target.

"In spell precision, raw mana won’t carry you. It’s about control. The interclass evaluation will grade accuracy, not firepower."

The room barely stirred. The pigtail blonde in the front doodled hearts, the redhead yawned, and Kiara stared out the window, her dark bangs shadowing her sharp eyes.

Lor slouched in the back row, arms behind his head, hazel eyes half-lidded beneath his shaggy black bangs, his average persona blending into the worn desk.

He looked lazy, detached—exactly as intended.

But his mind cataloged every detail: the class’s division, the inner circle’s quiet confidence, the majority’s apathy.

Class D was no longer a monolith of failure.

The Hopeful Inner Circle—Eva, Olivia, Nellie, Viora, Myra—had emerged, their improvement stark after weeks of ritual-fueled lessons.

They weren’t prodigies, but they were driven, whispering about spell angles, reviewing each other’s notes, their curvy figures tense with focus in their tight uniforms.

The Lost Majority—the three quarters others—remained indifferent, mocking or ignoring the process, their heads on folded arms or their eyes on the clouds outside.

The pigtail blonde snorted, her skirt swishing as she leaned toward the redhead. "Look at Nellie, acting like a prodigy now."

The redhead snickered, her curls bouncing. "Maybe I’ll wear a pair of sketchy glasses next, see if it helps me do math."

Nellie, two rows back, froze, her twin braids quivering, her thick thighs pressing together under her skirt.

Her gray eyes blinked once, twice, then narrowed behind her slipping glasses.

Without a word, she raised her hand, a soft pulse of light forming in her palm—trembling, then steadying.

She took a deep breath, flicked her wrist, and sent the bead soaring.

It sliced clean through the chalk-drawn circle on the blackboard, dead center, with a sharp thwack.

The room fell silent.

The blonde’s quill snapped.

The redhead’s eyebrows raised.

Lor’s lips curled faintly, his hazel eyes glinting.

This was Nellie’s win, not his.

Silvia blinked, her glasses fogging slightly, then beamed.

"Well done, Nellie!" Her voice cracked with rare pride, her white jacket straining as she clapped.

The inner circle followed.

Olivia cast twice, her beads grazing the circle’s edge, her wavy bob swaying, her tight blouse clinging to her busty chest. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Eva adjusted her stance, her blue bow steady, her dark blue hair shimmering as she fired a near-perfect burst, her skirt flashing lace-trimmed thigh-highs.

Viora and Myra glared at each other, daring the other to outshine.

Their casts weren’t flawless—Viora’s bead clipped the circle, Myra’s wobbled—but they weren’t sloppy, their thighs shifting under their skirts, red and black lace peeking out.

Momentum.

Fragile, but real.

That afternoon, as the classroom emptied and dusk painted the sky gold, the inner circle gathered behind the academy in their now-sacred training yard.

The weathered field, ringed by battered dummies and half-buried ward stones, smelled of damp earth and mana residue, its tilted fence a shield from prying eyes.

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