Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 39: Detached

The next day.

The Day of the Interclass Spell Precision Tournament.

The Grand Arcane Arena didn’t just stand—it breathed.

Its ancient stone tiers pulsed with life, green mana vines snaking through cracks like veins pumping raw magic.

The air thrummed, heavy with enchantment, prickling the skin of every student packed into the coliseum.

Overhead, runic scoreboards flickered, their glowing glyphs casting eerie shadows that danced across the crowd.

On the central field, crystal targets—enchanted discs—hovered and swayed in a conjured wind, their movements erratic, taunting the competitors below.

Vendors lined the arc, their stalls etched with mana that sparked faintly in the sunlight.

"Glowing pendants, only three mana stones!" one bellowed, waving a chain that pulsed blue.

"Sparking candy, pops in your mouth!" another called, tossing a piece that crackled midair.

Students shoved through the chaos, clutching fire-kissed ribbons and charmed trinkets, their whispers a mix of bets and bravado.

"Class A’s got this locked," one muttered.

"Class D’s gonna eat dirt, I like watching them fail, they are just so pitiful," another snickered, elbowing his friend.

Spectral ravens swooped above, their black feathers glinting as they carried sealed parchment between faculty sections.

At the arena’s crown, Class A’s platform gleamed—marble seats, gold trim, and an icy aura of untouchable privilege.

Seraphina, who led her classmates of Class A, lounged there, their postures screaming ’we own this place’.

Far below, in a shadowed, splintered corner, Class D’s rickety benches groaned under their weight.

Every shift sent a creak echoing, a reminder of their place in the academy’s brutal hierarchy.

Miss Silvia stood at the edge of their group, her white jacket straining against her ample chest, the fabric taut enough to draw a few sly glances from Class C’s back row. freewebnoveℓ.com

Her glasses fogged slightly in the humid air, and her pencil skirt hugged her thighs as she paced, wand trembling in her grip.

"Focus on accuracy," she urged, her voice cracking under the weight of a thousand judging eyes.

"Not power. Precision is what matters." Her words barely reached her students.

Some snickered, others stared blankly at the field, and a few—like Kiara and Ameth—didn’t even pretend to listen, their gazes as dazed at Lor’s.

Round one started at the targets 10 meters away.

The announcer’s voice shattered the tension, amplified by enchanted winds that carried it to every corner of the arena.

"Class A’s representative: Seraphina Astren!"

Silence crashed over the coliseum like a wave.

Seraphina glided onto the field, her gold-trimmed uniform clinging to her lithe frame, every curve accentuated by the tailored fabric.

Her silver hair caught the sunlight, shimmering like liquid mercury, and her pale fingers lifted a single mana bead with unknowing grace.

The crowd held its breath as she aimed, her violet eyes unblinking, sharp enough to cut glass.

Crack.

The disc flared—dead center.

Ten points.

Crack. Another perfect hit.

Crack.

The scoreboard blazed, her perfect round searing itself into every onlooker’s mind.

She turned, her lips curling into a smirk so cold it could’ve frozen the mana in the air.

The front row shivered, and even the spectral ravens quieted, their wings barely flapping as they hovered.

Class B didn’t cheer. Class C didn’t dare heckle.

Seraphina’s presence was a blade, and the arena was her stage.

The spell broke with a snort from Class C’s platform.

"Hope you Class D rats brought mops!" Joren jeered, his slicked-back hair gleaming like polished oil under the sun.

He leaned forward, his smirk dripping with contempt.

Beside him, Lila flipped her tight ponytail, her sharp eyes glinting.

"Ten points just for not fainting!" she added, her voice a whip crack carried by the enchanted wind, slicing straight into Class D’s corner.

Nellie’s shoulders stiffened, her thick thighs tensing beneath her skirt as she gripped her wand.

Olivia’s hazel eyes narrowed, her wavy bob swaying as she tilted her head, unfazed.

Eva, though, stood, her dark blue hair catching the light, pink streaks glowing like embers.

Her knit top hugged her curves, the fabric stretching across her chest as she clenched her fists, her green eyes blazing with defiance.

Her skirt rode up slightly, flashing a glimpse of blue lace that drew a few gasps from nearby boys before she tugged it down, unfazed.

"They’re scared," Eva said, her voice low but sharp, cutting through the jeers. "That’s why they scream so loud."

Olivia nodded, her lips curling into a calculated smile. "Let them scream. We shoot."

Nellie adjusted her skirt, her ash-brown braids swaying as she steadied herself.

Her gray eyes gleamed with quiet resolve.

"We’ll shut them up," she murmured, her voice soft but edged with steel.

Viora, her green hair a messy ponytail, rolled her eyes but smirked, her red lace panties peeking out as she shifted her stance, drawing a whistle from some Class C jerk before she shot him a glare that could’ve melted stone.

Myra, ever playful, yawned dramatically, her brunette curls bouncing as she stretched, her black lace panties flashing briefly under her skirt.

"Boring," she drawled, but her fingers were already on her mana beads, her brown eyes sharp with focus.

Lor, meanwhile, didn’t join the fire.

He slouched behind a broken wooden column, his black hair a mess, hazel eyes half-lidded like he was half-asleep.

His plain uniform screamed nobody, just another Class D loser not worth noticing.

He rolled a mana bead between his fingers, then flicked it lazily into the dirt.

It didn’t even glow.

Laughter erupted from Class C’s back row.

"Nice shot, genius!" someone called, and the jeers spread like wildfire.

Lor just smiled, a lazy, lopsided grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

He caught Nellie’s gaze for a split second, and she blushed, biting her lip before turning back to her stance, her grip on her wand tightening.

No grand gestures, no flashy magic.

Just a slouch and a glance that somehow lit a spark in her, in all of them.

Eva squared her shoulders, her blue lace peeking again as she stepped forward.

Olivia’s fingers twitched, ready to cast.

Viora cracked her knuckles, her smirk widening. Myra’s teasing grin turned predatory.

Nellie’s shy demeanor melted into focus, her thick frame radiating quiet strength.

Seraphina wasn’t the only one who could smirk.

Class D was ready to fight.

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