Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 76: dating?

Kiara cut him off, lips grazing his ear again, her voice dripping with venom and allure.

"So no girl," she murmured, "ever approaches you again for that scam of a ’Guiding Light’ you run. Just so you can stroke your perverted little needs."

Her blouse shifted, a glimpse of cleavage flashing as she leaned back, smug as ever, skirt hitched, lips glistening from the kiss she’d forced on him.

Lor stood, dazed, staring, the taste of her lips lingering, her spicy scent clinging to his senses. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

The classroom’s silence held, electric and heavy, every eye—Eva’s, Olivia’s, Nellie’s—burning into him, their shock a tangible weight.

Kiara lounged back, legs still crossed, her smile a triumphant spark, a queen who’d claimed her prize in front of them all.

The classroom remained frozen in the echo of a kiss that had rewritten everything.

________

Lor returned to his seat slowly, silently, his legs moving on instinct as his mind churned in the aftermath of Kiara’s kiss.

Her lips—hot, messy, possessive—lingered on his, the taste of her spicy perfume burning his senses.

His heart hammered, confusion swirling as the classroom’s silence pressed against him, a dozen eyes—Eva’s, Olivia’s, Nellie’s—boring into his back, their shock a tangible weight.

He slumped into his chair, barely exhaling, his hazel eyes staring at the desk, the air thick with the sunlight and unspoken tension.

This isn’t right, he thought, jaw tightening.

He was used to predictable girls—blushing, shy, eager, vulnerable, bending to his tricks.

But Kiara?

She was a storm—bold, cunning, confident, smart.

She didn’t fall into his plan; she countered it, her kiss a public claim that rewrote the room’s rules.

Now he can’t approach any girl nor any girl will approach him.

As he reached for his bag, a hand caught his wrist, smooth but firm, her nails grazing his skin.

Kiara again.

Her dark bangs framed her sharp face, icy blue eyes glinting with a playful, dangerous spark.

"Where are you going, Lor?" she asked, her voice honey-sweet, innocent, as if she hadn’t just shattered Class D’s social order with her lips.

His pulse spiked, her touch electric, her breasts brushing his arm through her blouse.

"What the—" he started, but her smile widened, soft and disarming, making his nerves flare hotter than any threat.

He lifted his free hand, pointing to his desk, voice low. "Just... here."

She laughed, a light, teasing sound that echoed in the silent room.

"Wrong. It’s lunch time. You promised we’d eat together, remember?" Her tone was playful, but her eyes were a challenge, daring him to contradict her.

He blinked, thoughts scrambling.

No. I didn’t.

No promise, no agreement—yet her grip tightened, her body leaning closer, breasts pressing against his arm, her perfume overwhelming.

She stood, looping her arm through his, dragging him with surprising strength, her curves screaming public couple.

The class parted like sea foam, students stepping back, eyes wide—Eva’s green gaze sharp, Olivia’s jaw tight, Nellie’s book forgotten—no one daring to stop her.

Or him.

Lor tilted his head as they stepped into the hallway, sunlight streaming through high windows, casting golden streaks across the stone.

He was a hostage, her arm possessive, her breasts brushing him with every step.

She’s parading me, he thought, frustration burning along with embarrassment.

He weighed his options, his mind a battlefield.

Reject her now, in public—call her a liar, declare he wasn’t her boyfriend, risk her erupting, maybe swinging at him again, her fist probably ten times as fierce as her kiss.

Or play along, let it ride, hope her game fizzled out.

But if she pushed further, cornered him? If she threatened him into submission? He’d have to fight back—reveal his true strength, the Guiding Light’s power.

The illusion would shatter.

Rumors would blaze—the other classes, professors, other officials digging in.

The girls—Eva, Olivia, Myra, Viora, Nellie—might testify, exposing manipulation, coercion, sexual favors.

His carefully built world would collapse.

So he walked in silence, her hand warm on his arm, her voice a teasing purr.

"I’m hungry. Hope they’ve got your favorite. What is your favorite?" she whispered, lips grazing his ear, her blouse shifting to flash cleavage, her skirt teasing lace.

To onlookers in the bustling hallway, they were a couple lost in new romance, whispers trailing them.

To Lor, it was a leash, her smirk a chain tightening around him.

The cafeteria’s smells—spiced meat, steaming rice, fresh bread—wafted in, but Lor barely noticed, his thoughts burning.

She’s controlling the board. Her kiss, her claim, her threat—"I’ll bury their head in the ground."

She’d caged him, and he loathed it, yet her closeness, her heat, stirred a dangerous spark.

He didn’t want chaos, attention, or a fight, but her game left no room for retreat.

A cold decision crystallized in his chest, his hazel eyes hardening, a grim resolve settling.

Though I’m not proud of it...

I guess I’ll have to turn her into my slave.

______________

The cafeteria buzzed with midday chatter, a lively hum of students in cliques, plates clinking, chairs scraping, the scent of spiced meat, steaming rice, and fresh bread mingling with sunlight streaming through enchanted skylights, casting a warm, prismatic glow.

But as Lor walked in, Kiara draped possessively around his arm, the energy shifted like a spell unraveling.

Voices dipped, eyes followed, mouths froze mid-sentence, the air thickening with unspoken questions.

Class D’s fiercest girl, walked hand-in-hand with the class’s most unremarkable boy, her dark bangs framing her face.

And she was smiling.

Worse—smiling at him.

Lor’s eyes stayed neutral, his face a mask of calm, but inside, he was boiling, his pulse racing with frustration and a dark thrill at her audacity.

They reached an empty table at the room’s center—a spot reserved for those with status or strength—and Kiara dropped into her seat, yanking Lor’s arm until he sat beside her.

Her body claiming him.

Their trays floated down, cafeteria magic swirling, but she ignored her food, her hand sliding over his thigh beneath the table, casual yet possessive, her nails grazing through his uniform.

And she made sure, there were eyes watching her hand.