A glowing gasp rippled through the stands, a wave of awe and envy.
The noble boxes, perched high in their marble splendor, erupted in silent nods of approval, their gilded occupants exchanging glances that spoke of unshaken faith in Class A’s reign.
Seraphina turned, her lips curling into a smirk sharp enough to draw blood, her silver hair catching the sunlight as she glided back to her platform.
The arena belonged to her, and she knew it.
After the uninfluenced performance of the remaining students of class A.
It was now turn for class B.
Kael of Class B strode forward next, his broad shoulders tense under his tailored robes, the fabric straining against his muscled frame.
His eyes narrowed against the swirling wind, his jaw set with determination to close the gap with Class A.
He raised his bead, his stance steady despite the chaotic gusts.
Snap.
The bead struck the second ring, clean and controlled. 8.
Snap. Another solid hit, same ring. 8.
Thud. The third veered slightly, clipping the third ring. 7.
The scoreboard flickered, and Kael’s lips twitched, a flicker of frustration breaking his confident mask.
Solid scores, but not flawless—not enough to challenge Seraphina’s icy perfection.
He stepped back, his broad shoulders stiff, and turned to his classmate, Tarn, a slim, nervous boy whose hands trembled as he approached the line.
Tarn’s bead wobbled the moment it left his fingers, caught in the wind’s cruel dance.
It veered wildly, vanishing into the glowing wards with a faint spark.
The scoreboard flashed a merciless 0.
Kael’s snarl echoed across the field.
"Loser!" he spat, his voice flaring with venom.
Before Tarn could react, Kael’s hand shot out, shoving the smaller boy hard.
Tarn stumbled, his thin frame sprawling onto the arena’s stone with a pained gasp, his eyes wide with panic.
The polished benches of Class B erupted into discord—some students jeering Tarn, others muttering about Kael’s temper.
The facade of Class B’s unity cracked, their confidence fracturing under the weight of their own expectations.
From Class D’s rickety corner, Eva’s green eyes gleamed, her dark blue hair catching the wind.
"They’re crumbling already," she murmured to Olivia, who nodded, her wavy bob swaying.
Nellie’s thick thighs shifted as she leaned forward, her gray-green eyes wide.
Viora smirked, her green ponytail whipping, while Myra’s teasing grin widened.
Joren and Lila leaned forward from Class C’s crowded rows, their usual venomous taunts choked by Class A’s untouchable performance.
Joren’s slicked-back hair glistened, whipped by the gusts, his jaw tight as he sized up the competition.
Lila’s ponytail snapped like a whip, her sharp eyes flicking to Class D’s rickety corner, assessing, calculating.
They braced themselves, their earlier bravado replaced by a wary silence.
Class D wasn’t supposed to be a threat, but their scores from round 1 gnawed at their confidence like termites.
In Class D’s shadowed section, the inner circle stood like coiled springs, their bodies taut with adrenaline and defiance.
Eva’s dark blue hair, streaked with pink, slapped against her damp cheeks, her knit top clinging to her full chest, sweat gleaming on her exposed collarbone.
Her green eyes burned with resolve, unyielding, as she gripped her next bead, her strong thighs tense under her skirt, blue lace peeking with every shift.
Olivia adjusted her stance, her charcoal-gray pants hugging her hips, the fabric outlining every curve as she moved.
Her wavy bob swayed, but her hazel eyes were sharp enough to cut glass, locked on the spinning discs with a focus that silenced the arena’s chaos.
Nellie’s fingers wrapped tightly around her bead, her gray-green eyes blazing with fiery determination.
Sweat streaked her flushed cheeks, her thick thighs and big ass straining her skirt, white lace flashing briefly as she shifted on the creaking bench.
Her braids bounced, but her grip was steady, her shy demeanor burned away by the heat of the moment.
Viora and Myra exchanged a glance—a half-dare, half-sister pact sealed with smirks.
Viora’s green ponytail whipped in the wind, her red lace panties peeking as her skirt rode high, taut over her warm thighs.
Myra’s brunette curls clung to her neck, her black lace visible as she stretched, her shirt hugging her breasts, thighs glistening with sweat.
Lor lounged on a cracked bench, his black hair falling messily over his hazel eyes, lips quirked in lazy amusement.
He rolled a bead between slender fingers, an emerald haze flickering in his gaze, subtle enough to go unnoticed.
His attention drifted briefly to Mistress Lyra, Class B’s fiery instructor, her tall frame commanding the sidelines.
Her red hair blazed under the sun, her emerald uniform clinging to every curve, the skirt gripping her hips like a lover’s hands.
Lor’s lips twitched, and he willed a teasing breeze to flirt with the skirt’s edge, hoping for a glimpse of what lay beneath.
The fabric held firm, defiant, and he smirked, filing away a bolder plan for later.
His gaze flicked back to Eva’s clenched fist, to the five determined faces of the inner circle.
He allowed himself the smallest curve of interest—not as a prophet wielding divine power, but as a spectator savoring the chaos.
Eva’s resolve, Olivia’s precision, Nellie’s fire, Viora’s defiance, Myra’s playfulness—they were a spark, and he was content to watch it ignite.
____________
Class C took their spots, their earlier swagger crumbling under the furious winds.
Joren’s slicked-back hair clung to his forehead, his jaw tight as he raised his bead.
Lila’s tight ponytail whipped wildly, her green eyes steely but strained.
"Ready?" Joren muttered, his voice sharp, barely audible over the gusts.
She nodded, gripping her bead like a weapon.
Joren fired, his beads wobbling in the chaotic wind.
Snap. Second ring: 5.
Snap. Third ring: 4.
Thud. Third ring again: 4.
His lips twisted, frustration flashing across his face.
Lila followed, her shots steadier but fraying at the edges.
Snap. Second ring: 5.
Snap. Second ring: 5.
Thud. Fourth ring: 3.
Her ponytail snapped as she turned away, her fluster betraying her usual sharpness.