Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 42: Inter Class Spell comp - 3

Toren’s foot caught on nothing.

With a startled yelp, he stumbled backward, arms flailing, and crashed into a shallow basin of mana-charged runoff.

Blue and gold tendrils sparked across his drenched robes, the enchantment-reactive fabric clinging wetly to his pudgy frame.

Steam hissed as the mana crackled, and his smoldering hem sent up tiny curls of smoke.

"Damn arena infrastructure!" Toren spat, scrambling to his feet, his face red with humiliation.

He swatted at his robes, the sparks stinging his hands, and limped away, muttering curses about shoddy maintenance and bad luck.

The other faculty stifled chuckles, turning back to the arena.

Toren’s "accidents" were becoming a running joke, though no one dared say it aloud.

Silvia’s shoulders relaxed, just a fraction, and she turned to Lor.

Her lips curved into a soft, fleeting smile—not the flustered, clumsy one she wore so often, but one of quiet gratitude.

Lor met her gaze for a split second, his expression unreadable, then gave a lazy shrug and tossed the chalk bead again, letting it roll into the dirt.

To the world, he was just a slacker, oblivious to the drama.

But Silvia’s mind flickered with suspicion.

This wasn’t the first time Toren had tripped or slipped or fumbled when he got too close.

Last week, he’d spilled scalding tea on himself mid-leer.

The week before, a loose flagstone had sent him sprawling.

Each time, Lor had been nearby, slouched and unassuming, his hands busy with some meaningless trinket.

She shook her head, pushing the thought away.

No, that’s ridiculous, she told herself.

Just a coincidence.

Lor was just a student—a kind one, maybe, but nothing special. His score of 2 in the first round proved it.

The idea that he could be orchestrating these mishaps, with magic no one else could detect, was absurd.

She was overthinking, letting her nerves get the better of her.

Still, as she adjusted her glasses and turned back to her notes, a tiny spark of curiosity lingered.

Lor slouched deeper into the shadows, his lazy grin hiding secrets she couldn’t quite grasp.

________________

Class B was wrapping up their round.

The scoreboard’s glyphs pulsed, tallying scores with unyielding precision.

The ten-meter targets spun lazily, their crystalline surfaces glinting under the sun, daring the next shots to land true.

From Class B’s polished benches, Kael stood tall, his broad shoulders squared, mana crackling around him like a disciplined storm.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

Each bead struck its disc with razor-sharp accuracy, bursts of light flaring on impact.

The scoreboard flickered: 9, 9, 10. Kael’s grin was easy, confident, as he turned to Class C’s crowded rows.

"If you had as much accuracy as ego," he called, his voice carried by the arena’s enchanted winds, "maybe you wouldn’t be stuck in the middle."

Chuckles rippled through the stands, even from Class A’s gilded platform.

Class C’s Joren scoffed, his slicked-back hair gleaming as he spun his bead with a flashy flourish.

He fired, the bead clipping the third ring.

The scoreboard blinked: 6. Lila followed, her tight ponytail swaying, lips pursed in concentration.

Her shot struck cleaner, landing in the second ring: 7.

The scoreboard tallied the round: Class C Round 1 Average – 33.8.

Respectable, but their lower scorers dragged them down.

Wild shots veered off, some barely grazing the outer rings, others missing entirely.

Class C’s platform buzzed with frustrated mutters, their earlier bravado faltering.

From Class D’s creaking corner, Viora leaned back, her green ponytail swaying, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Guess we’re not that hopeless," she murmured, her red lace panties flashing briefly as she crossed her legs.

Myra, beside her, twirled a brunette curl around her finger, her black lace peeking as she shifted.

"Their dregs are worse than ours," she added, her brown eyes glinting with mischief.

Then came the rest of Class D, the stragglers who hadn’t yet fired. frёewebnoѵēl.com

The redhead with curls, who’d laughed at Lor earlier, adjusted her skirt with a scoff, her freckled cheeks flushed with irritation.

The pigtail blonde, still giggling from the earlier jeers, yawned dramatically, her tight uniform straining as she stretched.

They sauntered to the line, their postures dripping with indifference.

The crowd’s murmurs grew skeptical.

Class C leaned forward, ready to pounce.

The redhead fired first, her bead veering wildly the moment it left her fingers.

It spun into a ward, sparking harmlessly against the barrier.

The scoreboard flashed: 0.

The blonde followed, her shot even worse, thudding uselessly onto the arena’s stone floor with a pathetic clink.

Another 0.

Groans echoed from Class D’s benches.

Class C erupted, Joren’s laughter booming like thunder.

"Nice aim, losers!" he jeered, slapping his thigh. Lila’s sharp eyes glinted as she joined in, her ponytail whipping.

"Might as well throw pebbles!" The enchanted winds carried their taunts, stinging like salt in a wound.

"I guess we need a separate round for you losers with the targets one meter away." taunted another.

But Eva didn’t flinch.

Her dark blue hair gleamed, pink streaks catching the light as she leaned in close to her inner circle—Olivia, Nellie, Myra, Viora.

Her green eyes were fixed on the scoreboard, unyielding.

"Don’t listen to them, we have done good," she said, her voice low, steel wrapped in velvet. "And we will keep going to prove it."

Nellie nodded, her gray-green eyes gleaming with quiet resolve.

Her braids swayed as she gripped her next bead, her thick thighs tensing, her big ass shifting under her skirt, the white lace peeking briefly as she adjusted her stance.

Olivia’s hazel eyes narrowed, her wavy bob fluttering as she gave a curt nod.

Viora cracked her knuckles, her smirk sharpening.

Myra’s teasing grin turned predatory, her fingers already on her next bead.

Silvia returned to the bench, her white jacket still taut, her auburn hair a soft mess as she stood behind her students.

Her cheeks were slightly flushed—whether from the heat or Toren’s earlier harassment, no one could tell—but her voice was firm, steady.

"We’re not last," she said softly, her glasses glinting as she met their eyes.

"Not yet."

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