Class D slogged through its morning lessons in a haze of suppressed tension. For once, Miss Silvia wasn’t fumbling her words.
Her white jacket was freshly pressed, her glasses perched squarely on her nose as she sketched a precise diagram of mana funnels on the blackboard.
Elegant curves traced theoretical mana flow—a masterpiece of academic intent. Not a single student understood a damn thing.
"Now, if you channel from the core through the third vortex—not the primary anchor—you’ll create a more stable concentration ring," Silvia explained, her wand tapping the board with a sharp click.
The class stared at the lines like they were scrawled in demon script.
Viora didn’t bother looking up, her green hair spilling over her desk as she traced idle patterns with her quill.
Myra bit her pencil, not in thought but in sheer boredom, her brown eyes glazed.
Eva and Olivia exchanged a quick glance, their curvy figures tense in their tight uniforms, sensing the undercurrent of unease.
Nellie scribbled furiously, copying the diagram without comprehension, her twin braids bouncing with each stroke.
Lor slouched in the far corner, chin propped on his hand, hazel eyes half-lidded behind his messy black hair.
Silvia’s theory was accurate, even elegant, but useless for Class D.
They needed tactile, visceral lessons—something to grip their scattered focus.
Silvia’s mistake wasn’t her teaching; it was assuming anyone in this class had the discipline to care.
Except one.
Nellie sat straighter, her gray eyes steady, her posture grounded.
No longer prey, she radiated a quiet confidence, her thick thighs shifting under her skirt as she wrote.
Her transformation hadn’t gone unnoticed.
When the bell rang, Lor didn’t get far.
Viora intercepted him just outside the corridor, her green hair catching the light, her busty figure blocking his path.
Myra followed, arms folded, her brown eyes sharp with accusation.
Their tight uniforms clung to their curves, skirts swishing over plump thighs, but their glares were sharper than their outfits.
"Three marks," Viora said, her voice cutting like a blade. "Three. And somehow she scores five?"
Lor stayed silent, his hazel eyes meeting hers without flinching.
"You taught her something," Myra added, stepping closer, her skirt swishing over her plump thighs. "What? Flashcards?"
"She asked for help," he said simply. "You haven’t."
"We’re asking you now," Viora replied, her green eyes unblinking, her busty chest rising with a slow breath, straining her blouse.
Lor regarded them for a moment, then walked past, his voice low. "Follow me."
The abandoned classroom was dim, its streaked windows letting in slivers of gray light. Chalk lines from old practice duels scarred the floor, dust spiraling in the air.
Lor dragged a creaky desk aside, standing in the center, his posture relaxed but deliberate.
"Alright," Viora said, arms crossed, her skirt accentuating her hips’ sway.
"Explain it. This ’Guiding Light’ nonsense." Her tone dripped sarcasm—she didn’t believe in sacred powers, only leverage.
Myra leaned against the wall, her skirt clinging to her curvy thighs, her brown eyes narrowed.
"We’re not idiots just because we’re Class D. What’s your scam?"
Lor met their gazes with blank calm, no hesitation, no flourish.
"The Guiding Light is my bloodline ability, passed down from my grandfather. He was a wandering mage who used it to help others, not himself. It bestows temporary wisdom to guide those who satisfy its... desires. The Light demands rituals—specific, often obscene acts—to be pleased. Only then will it grant clarity."
Viora scoffed, her green hair swaying. "You’re saying we need to... entertain some perverted spirit?"
"Exactly," Lor said, his grin sharpening. "The Light chooses the ritual. I just deliver its demands."
Myra made a face, her skirt shifting as she uncrossed her arms. "So what? You make us do obscene stuff and we get better?"
Lor nodded and pulled the familiar coin from his pocket, his fingers twitching with a subtle pulse of magic—precise, controlled, far beyond his persona’s expectations.
He closed his eyes, the coin wobbling, then rising smoothly, gleaming in the dim light.
"What guidance do you seek, children?" he intoned, his voice deep and theatrical, barely hiding his amusement.
Mira chuckled, mocking at his trance state "You sound so dumb, are people really falling for that shit."
Viora’s jaw tightened, but her ambition burned brighter than her doubt. "I want to improve my spell-casting precision. For the tournament. I need to hit the target dead-on."
Myra was surprised when Viora went along, she hesitated, then nodded. "Same. Spell precision for me too."
The coin spun, then dropped with a sharp clink.
Lor pressed a hand to his forehead, feigning strain, his hazel eyes opening slowly.
"The Guiding Light has spoken. To receive its wisdom, you must... spank each other. Ten strikes each, alternating, while the other lies across your lap."
Silence gripped the room.
Viora’s mouth twitched, not in amusement but in slow-blooming insult. "Are you trying to get off on this?"
"Already did," Lor said flatly, his grin unwavering. "The Light’s demands aren’t mine. It’s your turn to please it."
Myra barked a laugh, her brown eyes flashing. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever—"
"I’ll do it," Viora cut in, her voice sharp, already pulling a chair to the center.
Her skirt flared slightly, revealing the curve of her thighs as she sat, legs crossed at the ankles, back straight, expression unreadable.
Myra blinked, her curvy figure tensing. "Wait. You’re serious?"
"If this fraud worked on Nellie, it’ll work on me," Viora said, her green eyes cold. "She went from nothing to seventh place."
"She’s gullible," Myra muttered, her skirt swishing as she shifted.
"And she outscored us," Viora snapped, her skirt riding up slightly as she uncrossed her legs, planting her feet firmly. "Sit down, Myra. Let’s get this over with."
Myra groaned, rolling her eyes, but complied, stepping over to Viora.
The dusty classroom’s dim light caught the streaks on the windows, casting faint shadows over their tense figures.
Lor leaned against a desk, his black hair falling over his hazel eyes, his grin subtle but wicked.
"We go easy, okay?" Myra said, her voice low, almost pleading, as she sat, her skirt swishing to reveal a glimpse of lacy black panties. "No need to make this weird."
"Easy," Viora agreed, her green hair glinting as she nodded, her lips tight. "Just enough to satisfy this... Light thing."