Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 49: Round 3

Fenric followed, a slim, nervous boy whose hands shook as he raised his beads.

His shots were a disaster—0, 1, 3—each bead veering wildly, swallowed by the wards or lost in the gale.

A soft groan rippled across Class B’s polished benches, their confidence cracking like thin ice.

Kael’s anger boiled over.

"Useless!" he snarled, his fist slamming into Fenric’s shoulder, sending the smaller boy stumbling.

Fenric’s eyes widened, panic flashing as he scrambled to his feet, the benches buzzing with discord.

Class B’s unity frayed, their pride battered by the storm and their own failures.

Joren and Lila stepped up, their slicked-back hair and tight ponytail whipping in the fierce gusts.

Their earlier taunts at Class D had evaporated, their focus now on salvaging their own standing.

Joren’s beads faltered, struggling against the wind.

Thud. 2. A weak hit, outer ring.

Snap. 3. Barely better, fifth ring.

Snap. 5. The bead clipped the fourth ring, surprising Joren

Lila’s shots were no stronger, her sharp eyes squinting as she fought the gale.

Snap. 3. Fifth ring, wobbling.

Thud. 2. A scrape against the outer edge.

Her last shot fizzled right before it reached the target.

Lila groaned.

Their scores flashed, dismal and humbling.

Class C’s platform fell silent, their voices dropping, their taunts at Class D now flat beneath the weight of their own failed throws.

Joren’s jaw tightened, Lila’s hands clenched, their pride stung as whispers of Class D’s defiance echoed through the arena.

Eva’s dark blue hair snapped against her brow, knit top damp over her chest. She inhaled deeply, ready.

Olivia adjusted stance, pants hugging her hips, eyes locked on their targets.

Nellie’s bead trembled in her grasp—thick thighs planted like anchors under her skirt.

Viora and Myra exchanged determined glances—resolute, together.

They braced, sharing a moment of silent unity—five souls facing the tempest.

Lor remained slouched in the corner, his black hair hiding his hazel eyes, tossing a chalk bead with casual grace.

His plain uniform blended into the shadows, his presence barely a ripple in the arena’s chaos.

But his chin lifted just enough, a watchful stillness cloaking his calculations.

He noted the wind’s erratic patterns, the way it tugged at the discs, the subtle shifts in its rhythm.

His mind worked silently, mapping the storm’s chaos with a calm no one else could match.

He glanced at the inner circle.

His lips quirked, a faint amusement flickering in his gaze. No words, no pretense—just a quiet certainty that their flame was far from fading.

_________

Class C’s performance winded up and a fifteen minute break was given before Class D’s turn.

Eva and Olivia slipped away from the creaking benches, their uniforms clinging to their sweat-slick curves, the arena’s heat and their relentless drive painting their skin with a glistening sheen.

Eva’s dark blue hair, streaked with pink, clung to her flushed cheeks, her tight knit top molding to her full chest, each breath straining the fabric, her skirt hugging her strong thighs, blue lace panties peeking with every determined step.

Olivia’s charcoal-gray pants gripped her hips, outlining every curve, her wavy bob swaying, her hazel eyes sharp with unyielding resolve.

They moved like predators, snatching Lor from the shadows where he lounged, his black hair a messy veil over his hazel eyes.

"Undercroft. Now," Eva hissed, her green eyes blazing, her voice low but charged with command.

Lor’s lazy grin twitched, a spark of curiosity flickering in his gaze, but he followed without protest, silently along with them, like a ghost.

They descended into a damp, secluded undercroft beneath the arena, its slick stone walls lit by flickering mana lanterns that cast sultry, dancing shadows.

The air was cool, heavy with the earthy scent of moss and the electric hum of latent magic, the distant roar of the crowd muffled to a faint pulse.

Eva and Olivia faced Lor, their bodies tense, their ambition to outscore Class C’s average burning like a fever.

Their prior rituals—guided by the mysterious Light—had sharpened their skills, and they craved its power again, certain it could push them past their rivals.

"We need a ritual," Olivia said, her voice steady but laced with urgency, her pants clinging to her glistening thighs, her hazel eyes locked on Lor. "Class C’s crumbling. We can match their scorers—maybe beat them."

Eva nodded, her chest heaving, her knit top straining, sweat tracing a slow path down her collarbone.

"The Light’s helped us before," she said, her green eyes fierce. "We’re not stopping now. We need this, Lor."

Lor slouched against the damp stone wall, his hazel eyes half-lidded, rolling a tarnished coin between his fingers with effortless grace.

His voice shifted, deep and theatrical, as if channeling some ancient force.

"What guidance do you seek, child?" he intoned, his lips twitching to suppress a smirk, the coin wobbling in his palm, then rising smoothly, hovering between their faces with eerie stability.

Eva’s breath caught, her skepticism from their first ritual long gone, replaced by a burning need.

"We seek the Light’s wisdom to outscore Class C," she said, her voice firm, trembling with ambition. "We want to hit those 100-meter targets."

Olivia stepped closer, her wavy bob swaying, her hazel eyes fierce.

"Give us the edge, Lor, Light. Whatever it takes," she said, her voice low, her hips shifting, the damp fabric of her pants accentuating every curve.

Lor’s grin widened, the coin hovering steady, glowing faintly in the lantern’s light.

"The Light demands more this time," he said, his voice resonant, carrying the weight of the ritual’s gravity.

"Your ambition is greater, so the ritual must be... bolder." He paused, his gaze flickering with a mix of amusement and hesitation, as if the Light’s will surprised even him.

The coin trembled, then fell to the stone floor with a sharp clink, its glow fading as the Light’s demand crystallized.

"The Light demands one of you face-sit me, naked, while the other teases my nipples. Five minutes."

The air thickened, the lanterns’ glow casting their stunned faces in sharp relief.

Eva’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her green eyes widening, but her jaw set with determination.

Olivia’s hazel eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with disbelief. Her lips parted, a protest rising—but no words came.

"You’re serious?" she whispered.

"No. No. No.," Lor muttered, voice tight with panic. "The guiding light must be messing with me. I’m not doing this. Let’s just go back."

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