Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 46: Round Two - 4

Eva strode into the dimmed circle of the casting line, her dark blue hair plastered to her cheek, pink streaks glowing faintly. Her knit top clung to her curves, soaked through with sweat, outlining her full chest and strong frame.

Her skirt hugged her thighs, blue lace peeking as she planted her feet against the wind.

She exhaled, closing her green eyes for a heartbeat, centering herself.

Her first shot flew wide, caught by the storm. 1.

The crowd stirred, a murmur of disappointment rising.

Her cheeks burned, hotter than shame, but her jaw tightened, resolve flaring behind her eyes. novelbuddy-cσ๓

She adjusted her stance, her fingers steadying.

Second shot—Crack—it grazed the fourth ring. 4.

Third—Thud—it struck cleaner, landing in the third. 6.

Her lips pressed tight, her gaze fiery as she stepped back, signaling to Olivia with a nod that said. We’re not done.

Olivia moved forward, her charcoal-gray pants clinging to her hips, damp with sweat, her wavy bob swaying in the gusts.

Her hazel eyes locked on the target, sharp and unyielding. Her first shot veered slightly, hitting the fifth ring. 3.

The second found the fourth—5.

The third struck true, third ring—6.

She stood tall, her stance radiating defiance, her eyes saying. We’re not broken yet.

She exchanged a glance with Eva, their silent pact unbroken.

Viora followed, her green ponytail whipping, her legs firm despite the shaking wind.

Her skirt rode high, red lace flashing as she braced herself. Her shots were steady, if not spectacular: 3, 4, 5.

She stepped back, her smirk sharp, her green eyes daring Class C to laugh now.

Myra matched her, her brunette curls bouncing, black lace peeking as her skirt clung to her glistening thighs.

Her beads flew true—2, 4, 6—each hit a quiet victory.

She twirled back to the group, her grin playful but fierce.

Viora and Myra shared a glance, a silent agreement forged in the storm, their stand a shared triumph that steadied Class D’s wavering heart.

Nellie’s turn came, her thick thighs clenching under her skirt, white lace peeking as she stepped to the line.

Her blouse was soaked, clinging to her curves, her braids swaying as her fingers trembled around her bead.

Uneasy tension gripped her, her gray-green eyes flickering with doubt.

Her first shot dropped like lead, missing entirely. 0.

Her eyes misted, her breath catching, and for a heartbeat, she froze, the crowd’s jeers and the wind’s howl threatening to swallow her.

Lor slipped in beside her, his voice barely a whisper, soft but steady.

"Breathe, Nellie. You’ve got this. Five meters more is just one step bigger. Don’t let the wind steal your magic."

His hazel eyes gleamed through his messy black hair, his lazy grin a lifeline in the storm.

Nellie swallowed, her freckled cheeks flushing as she met his gaze. His words settled her, a spark igniting in her chest.

She steadied, her grip tightening, the crowd’s wind feeling lighter, as if her resolve stoked its own breeze.

Her next shot—Snap—grazed the fifth ring. 3.

The third—Crack—landed cleaner, fourth ring. 5.

It wasn’t perfection, but it was hers.

Nellie walked back, her braids bouncing, her freckles glowing under a sheen of sweat.

She looked at Lor, her gray-green eyes shining with resolve, a quiet thank you in her smile.

He nodded once, barely, and slouched back to his bench, his plain uniform blending into the shadows.

Class D’s corner buzzed, their spark flaring brighter.

The scoreboard flickered, tallying their struggle, but the inner circle’s defiance burned hotter than any number.

Kiara danced onto the casting line, her energy a live wire, crackling with untamed electricity.

Her dark bangs clung to her forehead, her tight knit top and skirt hugging her lithe frame, black lace peeking as she moved with feline grace.

She caught Caelum’s gaze from Class B’s polished benches, his tousled hair brushed by stray embers of mana, his sharp jawline catching the arena’s light.

Her eyes locked onto his, a predatory glint shimmering within.

She arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sultry smirk.

"WIll you go on a date with me Caelum?," she yelled, her voice carried by the enchanted winds, dripping with challenge and allure.

Caelum leaned forward, his grin tight, a mix of intrigue and unease.

"Only if you land a perfect thirty," he shot back, his voice betraying a hint of nerves under her fiery stare.

"Deal," Kiara whispered, her wink a spark that set the air ablaze.

She raised her bead, her stance commanding, mana coiling around her like a serpent.

Her first shot scorched through the gale—Crack—dead center. 10.

The disc flared, embers dancing.

The second—Boom—another bullseye, the disc bursting in a flash of light. 10.

The third—Roar—struck true, flames licking the edges as the disc shuddered. 10.

The scoreboard exploded, glyphs blazing: Kiara – 30. Average 10.

Applause thundered, the crowd roaring as spectral ravens screeched, carrying her name to the noble boxes.

Kiara spun on her heel, her skirt flaring, and strutted straight to Caelum’s stand.

She yanked a boy away and slid into the seat beside him with confident grace, her thigh brushing his, her black lace peeking as she crossed her legs.

"Told you," she purred, leaning close enough for him to feel her heat.

Caelum’s grin wavered, his heart racing—not from attraction but from the sheer intensity of her presence, like standing too close to a fire.

Laughter and amazement pealed around them, the spark between them shimmering like heat lightning, electric but dangerous.

Ameth followed, her blonde hair shining like a halo of flame, catching the arena’s light as she stepped to the line.

Intrigued by a sudden whim, she switched to her left hand, her lips curling with self-assured curiosity.

Her tight uniform clung to her curves, purple lace peeking as she raised her bead, her movements cold and precise.

Her first shot struck the third ring, a searing impact. 7.

The second hit cleaner, second ring. 8.

The third was near-perfect, grazing the center. 9.

Each bead left a smoking trail, the discs shuddering under her power.

She paused before the crowd, her icy blue eyes sweeping the stands as she blew a theatrical kiss, her self-admiring strut radiating pure, untouchable confidence.

She swept back to Class D’s corner, her blonde hair swaying, but her peers’ reactions were mixed—Eva’s eyes narrowed, Olivia’s jaw tightened, and the others exchanged glances of resentment. Ameth’s brilliance was undeniable, but her cold narcissism left them chilled.

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