Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 54: sidelines

Silvia watched from the sidelines, glasses fogged, her breath shaky with relief.

Despite Kiara’s absence and Ameth’s shady deal, this was real—Class D’s hard-won moment.

Her chest swelled, a faint smile curving her lips, pride shining in her eyes.

She glanced at Lor, a flicker of suspicion stirring, then fading as she soaked in the victory.

Kiara and Ameth were gone from Class D’s celebration.

The blonde with pigtails and the redhead slumped on their benches, heads bowed, their 1 and 0 scores heavy with shame.

They slipped into the shadows, left behind by the inner circle’s rise.

Class C’s platform was silent.

Joren and Lila shuffled off, their slicked-back hair and ponytail limp, their 2.7 average a humiliating mark.

Their taunts had crumbled, buried by Class D’s spark.

__________

The Grand Arcane Arena went dead quiet, like someone had yanked the air out of the place.

Mana vines along the stone tiers dimmed, their golden pulse faltering like a skipped heartbeat.

Spectral ravens froze mid-flight, score slips dangling like dead leaves.

Vendors clutched their fizzing rune-candies, amulets flickering as if the arena itself was spooked.

At the center, the announcer loomed, crimson robes billowing like a storm cloud, his staff humming with a low, menacing buzz.

He raised a hand, sleeve sparking, and his voice boomed, laced with arcane power.

"By decree of the High Council, Classes C and D fall short of the 4.5 average for advancement. Class C: 2.7. Class D: 3.1. Only Classes A and B proceed."

The words hit like a lightning bolt, splitting the silence.

Gasps erupted, raw and sharp, the crowd reeling as if slapped.

Class C’s section stirred, a slow shuffle of defeat.

Joren rose, his slicked-back hair limp, jaw clenched with embarrassment.

Lila followed, her ponytail sagging, sharp eyes dulled.

Veyra trailed, her stringy hair clinging to her cheeks. Their shirts and robes rustling as they filed out, heads bowed, their taunts reduced to ash.

The crowd watched, silent, as their pride crumbled underfoot.

In Class D’s corner, the blonde with pigtails and the redhead slipped away, faces flushed with shame.

Their collars damp with sweat, they melted into the shadows, their meager scores a weight they couldn’t carry.

But in the rickety D-tier bleachers, a spark flared into a blaze.

Eva, Olivia, Nellie, Viora, and Myra rose as one, their eyes alight with defiance. Eva’s green gaze burned, her dark blue hair streaked with pink.

Olivia’s hazel eyes gleamed, her wavy bob swaying.

Nellie’s freckled cheeks glowed, her gray-green eyes alive with pride.

Viora’s smirk was sharp, her green ponytail snapping.

Myra’s brown eyes glinted, her grin bold and playful.

They clapped, voices rising in a chant that sliced through the silence.

"Class D! Class D!" The rhythm swelled, infectious, their sweat mingling with mana residue, their energy a fire that refused to fade.

The crowd stirred, heads turning, as their chant echoed, a defiant melody that shook the arena’s stones.

Eva grabbed Olivia’s hand, pulling her into a quick, jubilant spin, their laughter bright and unrestrained.

Nellie bounced on her toes, her thick thighs quivering, her voice loudest in the chant.

Viora tossed her ponytail, her shout a blade of triumph, while Myra twirled, her grin teasing the crowd.

They pulled Lor into their circle, hands warm on his shoulders.

In the press of bodies, Lor stumbled, his hand grazing Nellie’s chest, fingers brushing the soft curve of her breast through her damp blouse.

A fleeting squeeze drew a gasp from her, her gray-green eyes widening, then twinkling with amusement.

"Careful, Lor," she murmured, her voice low, her freckled smile playful.

Lor’s face flushed, his hazel eyes darting away.

"Accident," he muttered, a shy grin breaking through, his heart sparking with the ecchi thrill.

The circle laughed louder, their hands lingering, tugging him tighter.

Eva raised her fist, her chant a rallying cry.

Olivia clapped in rhythm, her gaze fierce.

Viora and Myra shoved each other playfully, their shouts blending into a crescendo.

The crowd joined in, clapping, shouting, their disbelief turning to awe as Class D’s fire burned bright.

Silvia stood at the sidelines, glasses fogged with emotion, her breath shaky.

Her smile shone, triumphant and tender, pride swelling in her chest for her so-called failures.

She stepped forward, joining the edge of their circle, her auburn hair loose in the breeze.

Myra grabbed her hand, pulling her in, and Silvia laughed, her voice soft but fierce, joining the chant.

"Class D!" Her eyes glistened, the weight of her "amateur" label falling away.

Lor stood at the circle’s heart, black hair tousled, a chalk bead rolling in his palm.

His hazel eyes flicked from the chanting girls to the pulsing mana vines, their glow mirroring the arena’s energy.

The inner circle tugged him forward, their cheers wrapping around him like a warm tide. He shrugged, his shy grin masking the pride thrumming in his chest.

"Let’s go," he said, voice low, warm with quiet triumph.

The crowd’s roar washed over him, the pulse of magic and defiance alive in his veins.

Disqualified or not, Class D had carved their name into the arena’s stone, a mark no one could erase.

The announcer’s voice faded, vendors resuming their calls, ravens taking flight.

The mana vines flared brighter, a quiet revolution in the air.

Class D’s exit was no retreat—it was a parade, their voices loud, their steps bold.

Side by side, with damp uniforms and bruised egos, they marched out, the coliseum roaring behind them.

The arena’s focus shifted as Classes A and B prepared for the next challenge.

The announcer’s voice boomed again.

"Round Four—200 meters!" The crystal discs slid further, their spins wilder at the new distance, glinting like distant stars in the gale.

The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of cheers, as Seraphina stepped forward, her silver hair catching the light, her gold-trimmed uniform a beacon.

Her eyes locked on the targets, her presence a silent promise of dominance, and the stands roared louder, anticipation crackling like lightning.

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