Chapter 34: clipped

Her bead grazed the shield’s edge, steadier than her usual wobble, her wavy bob bouncing with a nod of approval.

Nellie’s bead hit the rim, her braids swaying, her gray-green eyes sparkling with pride, her thick thighs steady under her skirt.

Viora’s bead clipped the target, her red lace glowing, her smirk grudging but pleased, her green hair catching the light.

Myra’s bead wobbled but struck true, her black lace twisting, her brown eyes glinting with a triumphant laugh.

The improvement was modest—sharper paths, less mana flicker—but undeniable, their eyes widening at the difference, their sweaty bodies glistening in the lantern’s glow.

Lor stepped back, his hazel eyes still gleaming, his posture rigid with the Light’s presence, genuinely impressed.

Their unity, their fire, their sweaty curves swaying in the shed’s steamy air—it surpassed his expectations.

His mind raced with bolder rituals, ones to push their limits further, to keep them bound to the Light’s power.

By sunset, sweat shimmered on their skin, their spells cut cleaner through the air, and something in the wind had changed.

They exchanged goodnights and drifted off toward their homes.

Lor hurried back, the day’s heat still clinging to him.

He slipped inside, made straight for the bathroom, he had an hour before his mother called for dinner.

That should be enough right?

_____________

The morning began like any other in Class D—with tension steeping in every corner of the cracked, dusty classroom.

The air smelled faintly of old chalk, dried ink, and charged mana..

Slanted morning light filtered through grimy windows, painting narrow golden stripes across worn desks and scorched walls.

The room was cramped, oppressive, a fitting stage for the academy’s most ridiculed class.

Miss Silvia entered with a visible effort to project composure—her white jacket freshly pressed, its buttons straining over her generous chest, her pencil skirt hugging her hips with precision.

Her glasses slid slightly as she adjusted her notes, her lips pressed in focused determination.

Today was critical, and she knew it and rehearsed this for hours after class to not end up showing her panties after a clumsy fail.

Behind her, the old board had been hastily scrubbed, still bearing faint traces of mana funnels and spell schematics.

She turned to face the class, swallowing a nervous breath.

"As most of you know," she began, her voice striving for steadiness, "tomorrow begins the interclass Spell Precision Challenge."

A rustle of motion swept the room.

Some leaned forward, eyes sharp.

Others—the pigtail blonde and the redhead—rolled their eyes, whispering snidely.

"Here we go," the blonde muttered, her skirt swishing.

Silvia pushed a bead of sweat from her brow, her glasses fogging slightly.

"Five rounds. Targets at ten, fifty, one hundred, two hundred, and five hundred meters. Accuracy is key—not power. Center ring scores ten points, outer rings down to one, a complete miss is zero."

She bent to retrieve a demonstration bead from her case, her skirt hiking up just enough to flash a glimpse of lacy black panties.

Lor, slouched in the back, twitched his fingers subtly, conjuring a harmless draftthat lifted the hem another inch.

Silvia squeaked, clutching her skirt as a blush spread across her cheeks, her glasses fogging further.

The pigtail blonde snickered.

"Maybe we score extra for

that

show," she whispered, loud enough for the redhead to giggle.

Silvia cleared her throat, straightening up.

"Class averages determine rankings. Individual high-scorers will be acknowledged separately, of course."

Eva leaned forward, scribbling notes, her dark blue hair tied in a tight braid, her blue lace panties flashing as her tight skirt shifted.

Her green eyes burned with purpose, her full chest straining her knit top.

Olivia sat beside her, whispering strategies to Nellie—angles of casting, steady breathing—her white blouse clinging to her generous chest, her tight black pants outlining her hips, a hint of white lace peeking when she shifted.

Nellie sat straighter than ever, her twin braids swaying, her gray eyes gleaming with determination, her skirt revealing a sliver of white lace as she crossed her legs, unflinching.

Viora and Myra leaned together in the back, trading whispered barbs, their competitive streak undimmed, their thighs shifting under their skirts.

Lor lounged in his corner, rolling a bead between his fingers, his black hair falling over his hazel eyes.

He tossed it up lazily, catching it with a faint smirk.

"Five hundred meters, huh?" he murmured, loud enough to carry. "Wonder if the Guiding Light’s got a trick for that."

His voice was casual, but his eyes glinted, planting the seed.

Eva’s head turned subtly, her green eyes narrowing.

Olivia’s brow furrowed, her wavy bob swaying.

Nellie blinked, her braids quivering.

Viora and Myra exchanged a glance, their smirks faltering.

The room tensed briefly, but Lor yawned, leaning further back, playing the fool, his loser act airtight.

Silvia, oblivious, pressed on.

"The Grand Arcane Arena is enchanted—targets move with illusionary distortions.

Real-time floating scoreboards will track your scores.

Warding stones will shield spectators.

Accuracy spells only—no brute force."

The door creaked open, interrupting her.

Kiara sauntered in late, her dark bangs framing sharp, calculating eyes, her walk dripping with lazy arrogance.

Without a word, she raised her hand and fired a bead across the room, striking a small practice target near Silvia’s desk—dead center.

Her black lace panties flashed as she shifted her hips, her skirt barely regulation.

"Guess I’m ready," she said, her voice cool and taunting.

Ameth followed, her long blonde hair shimmering like silk, her purple lace panties peeking beneath a too-tight skirt.

She raised her bead, cast once, and nailed the center, her movements fluid, her eyes cold.

"Eva," she said coolly, "your ambition looks better in daydreams than results."

The class murmured, heads turning.

Eva’s jaw tightened, her green eyes blazing, but she didn’t flinch.

"Then we’ll see tomorrow."

Silvia tried to restore order, her voice wavering, her glasses slipping.

Even with her effort, she was just the Class D teacher, barely respected by her colleagues.

This challenge was as much for her as for them, a chance to prove her worth.

Lor watched her, a faint twitch of sympathy in his hazel eyes, quickly buried under his lazy grin.

His gaze slid to the class.

Most remained indifferent—blank stares, twirling hair, picking nails.

But the five—Eva, Olivia, Nellie, Viora, Myra—were different.

Their eyes burned, their postures sharp.

Something was rising in them.

Something ready.