The students returned to their classes after inspecting the arena.
The classroom stank of burnt wood, a sharp tang mingling with old chalk and faint mana residue.
Scorch marks laced the walls, curling around cracked windows like black vines, others seared across the floorboards from months of misfired spells.
Desks were shoved aside, creating a makeshift practice range, while a hot breeze slipped through the broken panes, stirring dust in golden shafts of morning light.
Miss Silvia stood at the front, adjusting her glasses with one hand, gripping a mana bead in the other.
Her white jacket clung to her shoulders, rising with nervous breaths, its buttons straining over her generous chest. Her pencil skirt hugged her hips tightly, already rumpled from earlier fidgeting, a faint glimpse of black satin panties peeking as she shifted.
Strands of auburn hair slipped from her bun, trailing her flushed cheeks.
"Focus on control," she urged, her voice striving for authority. "It’s not about power—it’s about aim. Visualize your anchor... release from the core."
Most students stared as if she’d asked them to carve a rune with a spoon, their eyes glazed or darting to the windows.
The door creaked open, uninvited.
Master Toren, Class C’s sleazy instructor, stepped inside, his balding head gleaming, a wine-stained grin etched on his face.
His robes hung loosely from one shoulder, giving him the air of soone who thrived on failing upward.
He scanned the room, scoffing. "Still burning desks, I see. Thought Class D’s specialty was failing quietly."
Silvia stiffened, her glasses slipping. "Master Toren, this is private instruction—"
He stepped close, too close, grabbing her elbow with a casual leer.
"Just checking on the academy’s charity wing. It’s a cri to waste good wood on broken wands." His breath reeked of sour grapes, his eyes lingering on her curves.
Silvia’s smile faltered, her cheeks burning.
A breeze rose, sharp and sudden, from the back of the room.
Lor didn’t lift his head from his slouched corner, his black hair falling over his hazel eyes, his hand flicking subtly under the desk.
Toren’s foot snagged on nothing, and he pitched forward with a loud splorch, face-planting into a half-dried puddle from an earlier water spell mishap.
His robes sagged, soaked, clinging to his scrawny fra, revealing a glimpse of stained undergarnts.
Silvia blinked, her lips twitching.
Toren groaned, staggering up, dripping, cursing under his breath.
"Careful, Master," Lor murmured, his voice barely audible, his grin sly. "The Light trips those who tread too high."
Toren spat muddy water, glared, and fled, his wet robes flapping.
Silvia smoothed her skirt, her black satin panties flashing briefly, and returned to the front, a faint smile tugging at her lips, her glasses fogging slightly.
Eva stepped forward, her skirt snug around her hips, her dark blue hair tied in a high ponytail, shimring in the light.
Her green eyes burned with defiance as she faced the scorched targets along the far wall.
"We’re not their joke," she said, her voice sharp, her knit top clinging to her full chest. "Every hit we land slaps everyone waiting for us to fail."
The inner circle lined up, their curvy figures tense with purpose.
Olivia’s hazel eyes narrowed behind her wavy fringe, her white blouse straining over her bust, her tight pants outlining her hips, a hint of white satin panties peeking as she shifted.
Nellie gripped her bead tightly, her braids bouncing, her gray eyes steady, her skirt hugging her thick thighs.
Viora’s grin was tight, her green hair catching the light, her red satin panties flashing as her skirt rode up, her hazel eyes daring.
Myra stretched her arms overhead, popping her spine with a soft sigh, her black satin panties visible under her short skirt, her brown eyes glinting with playful resolve.
Their beads flared, guided by the Light’s wisdom from the shed ritual.
Eva’s shot cracked the target, landing just shy of the center—an eight, the board’s outline vivid in her mind, as if she’d held it before.
Olivia’s struck clean, grazing the inner ring—a seven, her focus sharp, the target’s texture anchoring her aim. Nellie’s glowed as it hit near the center—a six, her gray eyes sparkling with pride, the target’s shape clear in her vision.
Viora and Myra followed, their twin flashes landing solid hits—fours, their shots steadier than before, the targets’ forms crisp despite their sore thighs wincing under their skirts.
Silvia gasped softly, her clipboard trembling, her white jacket straining as she leaned forward.
But the rest faltered.
The pigtail blonde fired, her bead veering into the wall—zero, her skirt swishing as she stomped in frustration.
The redhead scowled, her shot missing completely—zero, her curls bouncing as she muttered about the wind. Others blad their wands, the targets, anything but themselves.
Kiara stepped forward, flipping her dark bangs with quiet disdain, her sharp eyes cutting through the room.
Her skirt clung to her toned thighs, her black cotton panties peeking as she moved.
Her bead struck true, not just hitting the center but searing the board, a burn mark blooming around the bullseye.
"Hope that wasn’t your best, Eva," she said without looking, her voice cool and venomous.
Ath followed, her long blonde hair shimring like silk, her purple satin panties flashing under a too-tight skirt.
She tossed her bead with a lazy flick, hissing through the air to nail the bullseye, the board glowing faintly.
"You can dress up a pig and call it Class D, but it’s still a pig," she sneered, her lips curling.
No one responded, their silence heavy with tension, Kiara and Ath’s precision laced with poison.
Lor’s turn ca.
He stood slowly, yawning theatrically, his black hair falling over his hazel eyes.
He tossed his bead lazily, its mana fizzling midair, rolling pathetically to thump against the wall—score: one.
Snickers bubbled from the back, the pigtail blonde whispering, "How the hell did this loser score more than . This has to be a mistake."
Myra tossed him a bead, her black satin panties flashing as she grinned. "You scored one, that one more than your highest score," she teased, her brown eyes sparkling.
Lor caught it, his smile faint, his hazel eyes glinting.
"I am aiming for more." He slumped back, his loser act airtight, but his mind raced, planting the seed.
Nellie giggled behind her hand, her cheeks pink, her braids swaying as she took her stance again.
Her next shot clipped the target’s edge, the board’s shape vivid in her focus, her gray eyes bright with quiet pride.
Silvia watched her students—the hopeful inner circle and the doubting majority—and sothing stirred in her chest.
Not pride yet. But maybe... hope.
User Comments
0 comments from readers