Olivia stood in the center, her light brown, wavy bob swaying slightly, her hazel eyes focused as she held out her palm.
Lor leaned against a dusty desk, his black hair falling over his hazel eyes, his grin subtle but ever-present.
The twerking ritual had been a success—Olivia's flushed face and shaking legs proved it—but now it was time to deliver on his "Guiding Light" promise.
"Create the fire which you had used earlier," Lor said, his voice calm but authoritative, as if channeling some ancient wisdom.
Olivia nodded, her brow furrowing.
She muttered a quick incantation, and a small flame flickered to life in her palm, its orange glow weak and wavering.
She glanced at Lor, her hazel eyes hopeful, but he shook his head, his expression critical.
"It's too dim," he said, stepping closer, his eyes flicking over her form, noting the way her tight shirt shifted as she adjusted her stance. "You're using too much mana for a weak result. Focus it tighter. Imagine squeezing the mana into a tiny point, like threading a needle."
Olivia frowned, her cheeks flushing slightly from the earlier embarrassment of the ritual.
She tried again, her palm glowing as the flame brightened, its heat intensifying, though it still flickered unsteadily.
Lor nodded, his voice encouraging but precise.
"Better. Now, keep your wrist relaxed—tension wastes mana. Picture the flame as a steady breath, not a gasp."
She adjusted, her movements focused, her tight pants emphasizing the curve of her hips as she shifted her weight.
The flame steadied, its glow brighter, the heat radiating across the room. Olivia's eyes widened, a spark of surprise breaking through her focus.
"It's… actually working," she said, her voice soft with wonder.
"Good," Lor said, his grin widening. "Now, split the mana. Channel it to both hands." He stepped closer, his fingers brushing her arm to guide her posture, feeling the warmth of her skin through her tight shirt.
"Imagine dividing a stream of water—half to each side."
Olivia bit her lip, her hazel eyes narrowing in concentration.
She extended both hands, muttering the incantation again.
A smaller flame appeared in her other palm, weaker but steady, the original flame dimming slightly.
She adjusted, her mana flow evening out, and soon both hands held bright, hot flames, using less effort than before.
She gasped, her busty chest heaving under her shirt, her wavy bob bouncing as she turned to Lor. "I did it! I've never made fire this strong with so little mana!"
Lor leaned back, his grin smug but his mind calculating.
He'd given her just enough to impress—basic mana control techniques from his Earth knowledge, dressed up as mystical guidance.
Too much, and she'd need less of his "Light" later.
"That's enough for now," he said, his tone firm.
Olivia's face fell, her hazel eyes flashing with frustration. "But I need more! The inter-class competition is soon—I have to be perfect!"
"The Guiding Light isn't for the greedy. Maybe more later." Lor said, brushing past her, his shoulder grazing her arm, sending a spark through him. "We're already late for sword sparring, Let's go."
Olivia huffed, extinguishing her flames and following him out of the classroom, her tight pants swishing with each step.
The academy's hallway was quiet, the afternoon sun filtering through high windows.
Lor jogged toward the armory, his average build blending into the shadows.
Olivia trailed behind, her steps quick but uneven, still tired from twerking.
"Ahn!"
A sudden yelp made him stop.
He turned to see Olivia sprawled on the floor, her wavy bob disheveled, her tight shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of midriff.
A loose stone lay nearby—odd for the polished hallway.
Before Lor could move, laughter echoed from a nearby classroom door.
Two students emerged, their Class C badges gleaming on their uniforms.
The man, tall and smirking, had slicked-back hair, while the woman, with sharp eyes and a tight ponytail, sneered openly.
"Look at that," the woman said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Class D trash tripping over nothing. Keep dreaming about Class C, Olivia."
Lor stepped forward to help, but Olivia shot him a glare, scrambling to her feet, her hazel eyes blazing.
"I'm not dreaming," she snapped, dusting off her tight pants, the fabric clinging to her curves. "I'll top Class D in the spell-casting competition and earn my spot in Class C. One of you will be demoted to D when I do."
The Class C pair laughed, their voices sharp and cutting.
The man leaned forward, his smirk widening. "You think topping Class D means anything? Your whole class is selfish, clawing to escape alone. That 'top three to Class C' rule? It's a lie Miss Silvia tells you idiots to make you try. Everyone else knows only a class can escalate together—D's too weak for that. Your teacher's a liar, your class is trash, and you're stuck."
The woman chuckled, tossing her ponytail. "Ratshit spell-casting won't change that."
They turned, still laughing, and sauntered back into their classroom, leaving Olivia frozen, her fists clenched, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Olivia opened her mouth to retort, but her voice caught, her wavy bob trembling as she fought for words.
The Class C students' mocking laughter echoed down the hall, and she stood there, almost teary-eyed, with Lor watching silently.
He knew stepping in would only fuel her anger, so he waited, to make his move.