Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 48: Round 2 end.

Eva wiped sweat from her brow, her dark blue hair clinging to her damp cheeks, pink streaks glowing faintly.

Her knit top stretched taut over her full chest, soaked and clinging, her skirt hugging her strong thighs, blue lace peeking as she stood. Her green eyes gleamed with quiet triumph.

"We did what they didn’t expect," she said, her voice low but fierce, a steel thread weaving her inner circle together.

Olivia, panting, pushed her wavy bob back, her charcoal-gray pants clinging to her hips, damp with sweat.

Her hazel eyes were sharp, unflinching.

"We’re not their joke anymore," she said, her nod curt but heavy with resolve.

Nellie shifted beside them, her thick thighs trembling slightly from the strain, her big ass straining her skirt, white lace flashing as she moved.

Her cheeks were flushed, her gray eyes shining with a pride she’d never dared feel before.

She’d scored.

She’d mattered.

Her braids swayed as she smiled, soft but radiant, her fingers clutching her beads like talismans.

Viora and Myra tossed chalk beads at Lor’s feet, their skirts clinging to their glistening thighs, red and black lace peeking.

"Fluke of the century," Myra smirked, her brunette curls bouncing, brown eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I still say your spell bent in the wind," Viora added, her green ponytail swaying, her smirk sharp but playful.

Lor caught one of the beads mid-air, his black hair falling messily over his hazel eyes.

He leaned back with that dead-eyed calm, his plain uniform blending into the shadows.

"Maybe the wind liked me," he drawled, his voice dry. But a flicker of warmth hid in his grin, unnoticed by most.

No one mentioned Lila’s crude dare, her promise to flash if Lor hit a five.

No one had to.

Her stunned silence after his 8 was victory enough, her retreat into Class C’s crowd a trophy they’d all share.

The rest of Class D sat in silence, their spark dimmer.

The blonde with pigtails and the redhead, once average but now disgraced with their 0s and 2s, slumped low in their splintered seats, eyes locked on the dusty floor.

Their failure carved a line through Class D—those who fought, and those who faded.

Silvia stood behind her students, her white jacket straining against her bust, her pencil skirt clinging to her hips.

Her auburn hair slipped free from its bun, her glasses fogged from the humid air, but her shoulders were steady.

Her eyes traced her inner circle—Eva’s fire, Olivia’s resolve, Nellie’s newfound strength, Viora and Myra’s defiance, Lor’s subtle spark.

A smile touched her lips, faint but real, a flicker of pride she rarely allowed herself.

She adjusted her glasses, her voice soft but firm.

"You’re not last," she murmured, her gaze lingering on Lor for a moment, that nagging suspicion stirring again.

His 8 had been too clean, too deliberate for a fluke, but she pushed the thought away.

Just nerves, she told herself, turning back to her notes.

The enchanted speaker boomed, its voice cutting through the wind.

"Round Three—One Hundred Meters! Ten minutes!"

Mana vines pulsed harder, their golden light flaring as the field reset. freewebnøvel.coɱ

Crystal discs hovered at one hundred meters, their surfaces glinting like distant stars, spinning faster in the gale. The crowd leaned forward, the noble boxes buzzing, vendors shouting.

"Class D’s still in it!"

Normally, Class D would’ve given up by Round 3, their spirits broken, their benches empty as they slunk away in shame.

But this time, they stayed.

Eva turned, her green eyes sharp as blades, her dark blue hair whipping in the wind.

"We’re not done," she said, her voice a vow.

The inner circle nodded, their faces set.

No laughter now, no casual insults.

Just breath, focus, and the distant promise of more.

Nellie gripped her beads, her freckles glowing with resolve.

Olivia’s fingers twitched, ready to cast.

Viora cracked her knuckles, Myra’s grin turned predatory, and Eva’s stance radiated unyielding fire.

Lor slouched against the bench, his hazel eyes half-lidded, watching the discs with that lazy grin.

Class C’s taunts had quieted, Class B’s smirks faltered, and even Class A’s noble platform stirred, Seraphina’s icy gaze flickering toward Class D’s corner.

The storm raged on, but Class D’s flame burned brighter, a beacon in the shadows of the scoreboard.

One hundred meters awaited, and they were ready to strike.

____________

The air trembled.

Round  3—100 meters—began.

The arena’s mana vines pulsed like sentinels, glow intensifying.

One hundred meters out, crystal discs hovered, spinning erratically in wind-churned chaos, their surfaces glinting like cruel taunts, daring casters to land a hit.

Spectral ravens darted overhead, betting slips flapping in their talons, while vendors’ cries—pushing fizzing rune-candies and glowing pendants—blended into the crowd’s sharpening roar, a collective held breath on the edge of explosion.

Seraphina glided to the casting line, her silver hair framing a face of lethal calm, her gold-trimmed uniform shimmering like a beacon.

Her violet eyes locked onto the distant discs, unyielding, as if the wind itself bowed to her will.

She raised three beads, her pale fingers steady, and released them with chilling precision.

Snap. 9. The disc flared, a near-perfect hit.

Snap. 10. A bullseye, shattering the disc in a spray of light.

Snap. 10. Another perfect strike, the disc exploding into radiant shards.

The noble tiers stirred, their gilded occupants nodding in silent approval, their faith in Seraphina’s supremacy reaffirmed.

She turned, her smirk a blade of ice, her silver hair catching the light as she returned to her platform.

The arena was hers, and every soul felt it.

Kael strode forward, his broad shoulders taut under his tailored robes, the fabric straining as he fought the wind’s fury.

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed against the gusts, determined to hold Class B’s ground.

He released his beads, each shot battling the storm’s resistance.

Snap. 5. The bead clipped the fourth ring, wobbling.

Snap. 6. A cleaner hit, third ring, but unsteady.

Thud. 6. Another third-ring strike, barely holding.

Kael’s lips twitched, frustration flaring as he stepped back, his scores solid but far from Seraphina’s perfection.

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