Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 52: worked

"And it worked," Olivia added, her voice softer, her hazel eyes glinting with conviction. "The Light gave us advice—wind angle, tempo, rhythm. Now you all don’t need to... you know, do the full ritual, we will tell you what the light told us."

The circle exchanged glances, relief washing over them, laughter bubbling up like a shared secret.

Myra’s brunette curls bounced as she grinned, her black lace panties peeking as her skirt rode high.

"That’s smart," she said, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "All the power without... uh, the messy stuff."

"Yeah," Viora agreed, rolling her eyes playfully, her smirk sharp.

"Best plan yet. You two get the Light’s wisdom, and we get to keep our dignity."

Nellie giggled, her freckled cheeks flushing, her thick frame relaxing.

"So, what did the Light say?" she asked, her voice eager, her beads clutched tightly in her hands.

Eva’s lips curved, her green eyes flashing. "Watch the sand and grass for the wind’s rhythm. Time your shots when the gusts soften, angle left to ride the flow. It’s like dancing with the storm."

The circle nodded, their faces set with determination, their spark kindling into a flame as Oliva and Eva gave them demonstrations in the little time they had left.

And by the time the horn blared.

They were ready to strike.

Lor lounged in the corner, his black hair falling over his hazel eyes, blending into the shadows.

He tilted his head toward the sky, watching clouds drift above the arena, their shapes uncannily mirroring Olivia’s curvy ass and the delicate folds he’d tasted in the undercroft.

The memory stirred a secret thrill deep within him, his thigh pressing discreetly against his growing arousal as he savored the ritual’s heat—Olivia’s moans, Eva’s teasing tongue, the electric tension of their offering. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

He smirked faintly, as he had caught every word from the inner circle’s hushed conversation.

Pirating my knowledge, huh? he thought, his grin sharpening.

Eva and Olivia sharing the Light’s wisdom without the ritual’s cost was clever, but it sparked a playful idea of "punishment" for later—maybe a private ritual to remind them that the Light is everywhere and to never cross it.

For now, he let it slide, his gaze drifting back to the clouds, their curves fueling his quiet amusement.

Until, he couldn’t hold it anymore.

He slipped away discreetly, slipping into a bathroom stall to relieve himself from all the pent up tension.

When he returned, calm and composed, his hazel eyes half-lidded, the inner circle was already stepping forward to take their place on the 100-meter line.

The inner circle approached the casting line, their bodies tense but resolute, their eyes locked on the distant discs.

The wind howled, but they moved with purpose, their ritual-fueled confidence a shield against the storm.

Viora went first, her green ponytail whipping, her skirt clinging to her thighs, red lace flashing as she planted her feet.

Her beads flew with terrified bravery: 3, 3, 4.

Each shot sparked surprised murmurs from the crowd, her defiance carving a mark in the arena’s memory.

Myra followed, her brunette curls bouncing, her black lace peeking as her skirt rode high.

Her shots were steady, purposeful: 1, 4, 3. She twirled back, her grin predatory, the crowd’s murmurs growing louder.

Nellie stepped up, her thick thighs clenching under her skirt, white lace flashing as she steadied her trembling hands.

Her first two shots faltered—1, 1—but her final bead found its groove, riding the wind’s rhythm to strike the fourth ring: 5.

Her cheeks flushed, her gray-green eyes shining with blooming confidence as she walked back, her braids bouncing.

Eva strode forward, her dark blue hair snapping against her brow, her knit top soaked, outlining her full chest.

Her green eyes burned as she fired: 5, 6, 3.

A steady climb, each shot sharper, her stance radiating unyielding fire.

Olivia followed, her charcoal-gray pants hugging her hips, her wavy bob swaying.

Her hazel eyes locked on the target, her shots flawless, riding the wind with precision.

6, 6, 6. A perfect trio, each bead dancing with the storm, landing true.

The crowd gasped, a wave of awe rippling through the stands.

Class C’s section—Joren, Lila, Veyra—hovered in stunned silence, their slicked-back hair and tight ponytails still, their eyes downcast.

The scoreboard glowed, Class D’s average climbing above Class C’s lowest range.

The once-dismissed "loser" class now stood as contenders, their spark a blaze that shook the arena’s hierarchy.

The blonde with pigtails and the redhead, once middle-of-the-pack, watched from their splintered benches, their Round 3 scores meager: 2 and 1 and 0.

Their eyes flickered with remorse, their postures slumping as they slipped out of sight, fading into the shadows of Class D’s rising inner circle.

Their failure carved a deeper divide—those who fought, and those who fell.

Lor folded his arms, his hazel eyes glinting with an ember of triumph, his face a calm mask hiding the pride burning within.

The Light’s spark was real, its guidance shifting the tide, and he’d fanned it without ever stepping into the spotlight.

Silvia stood on the sidelines, her white jacket straining against her bust, her pencil skirt clinging to her hips, her auburn hair slipping free from its bun.

Her glasses glinted as she tilted her chin upward, as if inhaling a fresh wind.

The pride in her gaze was unmistakable, her eyes lingering on her students, then briefly on Lor, a flicker of suspicion stirring before she pushed it away.

The mana vines pulsed faster, the scoreboard blazing with Class D’s surge.

The arena’s roar grew louder, the crowd sensing a shift in the tide.

Since, next was the explosive duo. Kiara and Ameth.

But.

The casting lane stood empty where Kiara should have been, her absence a void that sucked the air from the arena.

Whispers spread like wildfire—earlier, she’d been seen slipping away with Caelum, Class B’s lean standout, their laughter echoing through the corridor like a reckless promise.

Her dark bangs, her lithe silhouette, her fiery energy—gone, replaced by a yawning silence. The scoreboard flashed, merciless:

Kiara – 0, 0, 0.

Default zeros, a brand of failure that stung worse than any taunt.

The crowd stirred, a gust of shock rippling through the stands.

The inner circle—Eva, Olivia, Nellie, Viora, Myra—shared a glance, their faces a mix of frustration and resignation.

Kiara had chosen something else, perhaps Caelum’s fleeting charm, and the cost was steep.

Their chance to surge further dimmed, her absence a wound in Class D’s rising tide.

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