Academy's Pervert in the D Class-Chapter 73: A morning

Lor woke with a stretch that pulled at every sore muscle in his back, the mattress cradling him like a lover, his blanket twisted halfway off his legs.

His sleep had been deep, uninterrupted—well-earned after bending the sky to his will.

The memory of last night’s rain spell flickered through his mind, a grin spreading across his face, his hazel eyes glinting with quiet pride.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, glancing at the faint damp trail of dried water from his open window to the floor, a ghost of his triumph even after magic-cleaning.

After a lazy yawn, he shuffled through his morning routine.

A quick piss, brushing his teeth with a half-hearted scrub, a splash of cold water to his, and a rinse of his black hair, leaving it tousled.

Sunlight climbed through the clouds, casting pale gold over his desk as he stepped back into his room.

Today was an academy day.

He tugged on his uniform shirt, buttoning it absentmindedly, straightened his tie with two quick flicks, and ran fingers through his hair, keeping the messy.

His bag slung over one shoulder, he headed downstairs, the scent of sizzling garlic and onions hitting him like a warm embrace.

Mira stood at the stove in a simple nightgown and apron, her black hair tied up, lips pursed in mild irritation as she stirred a pan, her curves outlined softly by the fabric.

"Morning," Lor said, sliding into his usual spot at the table, his hazel eyes flicking to her.

Mira didn’t glance back, her voice sharp but fond. "You’re up early."

"It’s academy," he replied, leaning on one elbow, his grin playful.

She groaned softly, stirring harder.

"I woke up late. The rain last night kept me awake. Your father hogged the blankets again." Her tone carried a teasing edge, her hips shifting as she worked, the nightgown clinging faintly to her thighs.

"Guilty," Elen muttered from the table’s other end, buried behind a folded newspaper, his voice thick with a yawn.

His brown eyes peeked over the edge, glinting with amusement.

Lor chuckled, settling in, the chair creaking faintly. "Breakfast ready?"

"Almost. Sit still," Mira said, her voice firm but warm.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen window, smudged with last night’s drizzle, a few drops clinging to the frame.

He thought of the spell—how the air thickened, clouds bent to his will, rain falling exactly as he commanded.

Not a class lesson, but his own.

He’d guided Silvia, summoned a storm, and now, who else would seek the Light?

His mind wandered to Ameth’s blonde braid, Kiara’s angry dark eyes, Miss Silvia’s heaving breasts, Olivia’s moans—a web of desire and power spinning tighter.

His cock twitched faintly, a subtle heat stirring, but he kept his grin casual, masking the fire in his chest.

Elen lowered his newspaper slightly, squinting. "What’s that face?"

Lor blinked, caught off-guard. "Huh?"

"You’re grinning like a... weirdo," Elen said, voice gruff but teasing, his brown eyes narrowing. "What’re you thinking about?"

Lor shook his head quickly, grin widening.

"Nothing. Just... remembered something funny." His hazel eyes flicked away, hiding thoughts of the Guiding Light’s rituals, the girls in his class, their curves and fire.

"Right," Elen grunted, unconvinced, raising the paper again.

Behind the newspaper, Elen’s eyes shifted to Mira at the stove.

She glanced back, sensing him, their eyes locking for a brief, heated moment.

Elen winked, a sly spark in his gaze.

Mira raised a flour-dusted hand, blowing him a tiny, playful kiss across the stove’s flame, her lips curling with mischief.

A subtle smile crept across Elen’s face, hidden by the paper’s rustle.

Lor stared at the window, oblivious, his thoughts far away—on magic, the girls, the growing pull of the Guiding Light. He missed the entire wordless exchange between his parents.

_________

The academy loomed ahead, its towering spires catching the soft morning light, a golden haze shimmering off the stone like a spell woven into the air.

Lor strolled toward the gates, hands tucked into his pockets, uniform slightly wrinkled, bag swinging lazily at his side.

His face wore the familiar unbothered mask—hazel eyes half-lidded, mouth slack with faint amusement, as if he hadn’t fully woken.

He stepped past the threshold, and the world shifted.

A hush lingered a beat too long after his footsteps, the morning air thickening.

One set of eyes turned, then three, then a dozen—students in the courtyard pausing, their glances sharp, piercing.

Whispers sparked, urgent and barely contained, like gossip ready to burst.

Lor didn’t react, his grin steady, but his senses sang, his pulse quickening at the weight of their stares.

He walked the hallway like a ghost slipping through walls, classmates tracking him, their eyes too focused, waiting for a move.

It hadn’t been like this yesterday, never had.

The air felt charged, heavy with unspoken questions.

He kept his pace casual, his hazel eyes darting, catching fleeting glances—a girl whispering to her friend, a boy nudging another, their words lost but their intent clear.

Something’s changed.

He entered Class D, his familiar backwater haunt, but the atmosphere was electric, tense, like a spell waiting to break.

The room breathed in response, ambient noise—rustling papers, muffled laughter, whispered taunts—draining into a heavy silence.

Dozens of eyes landed on him, sharp and unyielding, the weight of their stares pressing against his skin.

Lor walked to his desk at the back, each step echoing louder than it should, his satchel thudding softly as he sat.

He didn’t make eye contact, didn’t smirk, just settled in, his grin lazy, but his heart pounded, his cock twitching at the strange intensity.

No one spoke to him.

Not Eva, whose usual teasing smirk was gone, her green eyes fixed on her desk, her pink-streaked hair falling like a curtain.

Not Olivia, who turned toward the wall, her wavy bob swaying, avoiding his gaze.

Not Viora or Myra, whispering with angled backs, their voices low, excluding him.

Not even Nellie, who buried her nose in a book, her freckled cheeks flushed, refusing to look up.

The absence of their usual glances—playful, calculating, or shy—felt like a void, a shift Lor couldn’t place.

He scanned the room, his hazel eyes narrowing, searching for the source, someone looking at him.

Then he saw her—

Kiara.