Lila’s average matched Joren’s: 4.3.
Class C’s platform buzzed with disbelief, so students exchanging uneasy glances, others muttering under their breath.
Their smug veneer was cracking, exposed by the storm’s unforgiving truth.
Veyra, a skinny girl with stringy hair, stepped up next, wiping sweat from her brow.
Her hands shook as she aid, her spells faltering in the wind’s grip.
Snap. Fourth ring, a lucky hit. 5.
Thud. Fifth ring, barely clinging. 2.
Clatter. The final bead veered wildly, vanishing into a warded trench with a pathetic spark. 0.
Class C’s section sighed, a few even laughing bitterly at their own.
Their pride was unraveling, and the arena saw it all.
From Class D’s rickety corner, Eva leaned forward, her dark blue hair plastered to her damp cheeks, pink streaks glowing under the arena’s light.
Her knit top clung to her full chest, soaked and sticky, outlining every curve as she grinned.
"Oh, co on—they’re falling apart!" she said, her voice sharp with glee, green eyes blazing with triumph.
Olivia’s soft laugh broke her usual calm, her shoulders tense but relief softening her hazel eyes.
Her charcoal-gray pants hugged her hips, damp with sweat, as she leaned back.
"We almost look stable next to them," she murmured, her wavy bob swaying.
Viora and Myra stood, their skirts clinging to their thighs in the humid air, red and black lace peeking as they moved.
"Should’ve seen them wobble," Viora said, folding her arms, her green ponytail whipping. "Like they’ve never seen wind before."
"Like fawns in a gale," Myra added, her brunette curls bouncing as she flashed a playful grin, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
Their laughter echoed over the wind, raw and defiant, a blade of taunt to shake the Class C’s performance.
Kiara strode to the front of Class D’s stand, her dark bangs plastered to her forehead, her tight knit top and skirt absorbing the arena’s light like a void.
Her black lace panties flashed briefly as she leaned forward, her lithe fra radiating reckless energy.
Her eyes locked onto Caelum from Class B, his tousled hair catching the breeze, his sharp jawline drawing her gaze.
Admiration burned in her stare, hot and unapologetic.
She leaned toward him, her voice carried by the enchanted winds, sultry and commanding.
"Your Class B boys better brace themselves—this storm isn’t over." Her words were a challenge, laced with a seductive edge that made the air between them crackle.
Caelum’s grin flashed, his heart racing as he t her gaze, caught off-guard by her bold, fiery energy.
The crowd nearby buzzed, so whispering, others chuckling at the brazen flirtation playing out in the storm’s chaos.
Kiara’s laughter rang out, lethal and intoxicating, a wildfire that promised to burn through anyone who dared underestimate her.
She tossed her head, her bangs falling back, and shot Caelum a wink that left him blinking.
Lor watched from his cracked bench, slouched as always, his black hair falling ssily over his hazel eyes.
A faint glow of amusent flickered in his gaze, subtle as a shadow.
He didn’t look away from Kiara once.
Her flirtation with Caelum, her fierce posture, the way she owned the arena’s chaos—she wasn’t just casting spells.
She was wielding power, raw and untad.
His grin softened, a crack in his lazy facade.
His eyes lingered on her, not as a prophet but as a man intrigued by a fla that refused to be tad.
Nellie sat at the edge of her seat, her blouse soaked with sweat, clinging to her curves, her big ass brushing the bench’s splintered edge.
Her gray eyes darted between Class C’s faltering shots and Kiara’s reckless grace, her fingers gripping her bead so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Her thick thighs tensed, white lace peeking as she shifted nervously.
Myra leaned beside her, her elbow brushing Nellie’s arm in gentle reassurance.
"You ready to own the storm?" she murmured, her voice warm but teasing.
Nellie swallowed, her braids swaying as she nodded.
"I think..." Her voice was soft, but a spark of determination burned beneath it, growing brighter with every faltering shot from Class C.
The arena trembled, the scoreboard flashing Class C’s dismal 4.1 average.
Spectral ravens flapped overhead, carrying news of the stumble to the noble boxes.
Vendors paused, gloved hands mid-sale, then roared: "Class C falters! Worst performance of the year"
The arena’s magic pulsed visibly now, mana vines glowing in sync with the crowd’s surge, their light flickering like a heartbeat.
The scoreboard blinked, its glyphs searing Class C’s wobbling results into the coliseum’s mory.
Class D’s corner humd with electricity—mockery, hope, adrenaline crackling like a live wire.
Kiara shot Caelum another wink, her wildfire grin unyielding.
Class C sank into uneasy silence, their platform a storm of whispered doubts.
Below it all, Class D’s inner circle braced, sweat-slick and hearts pounding.
It was their turn next.
Joren’s voice slithered across the wind, his slicked-back hair whipping wildly as he leaned over Class C’s platform.
"Your class couldn’t hit a fly at ten ters, and now you’re gambling on distance?" His sneer was a calculated barb, payback for Class D’s earlier mockery, aid to shatter their fragile montum.
Lila’s sharp laugh followed, her ponytail snapping like a flag.
"Keep dreaming, rejects!" she called, her voice cutting like ice shards—cold, brittle, but piercing.
Class C’s eyes glead with malicious glee, their taunts rattling Class D’s unruly minds, sowing doubt in the weaker hearts.
The pigtail blonde stepped to the casting line, her hands shaking, her tight uniform straining as she tried to steady herself.
Her first bead hissed sideways, caught in the gale, barely grazing the outer ring. 2.
The redhead followed, her curls a tangled ss, her shot even worse—a wild miss that vanished into the wards. 0.
Her third clipped the outermost ring, a pitiful, but her best, 3.
The scores weren’t enough to silence the snickers rippling from Class C’s platform.
Taunts erupted louder, Joren’s laughter booming.
"That’s your best? Pathetic!" Class C leaned forward, their eyes glinting like predators sensing blood.
The blonde and redhead slunk back to their seats, faces burning, their 0s and 2s a brand of sha.
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