The D-Class classroom of Vivian Academy was a symphony of chaos, a creaky, rundown testament to failure that smelled faintly of burnt spell residue and despair.
Mismatched desks wobbled under the weight of half-hearted scribbles, their surfaces etched with magical graffiti that flickered faintly—crude fire runes and misspelled levitation chants.
A dull practice sword, lodged in the wall from last week's botched sparring session, gleamed dully in the morning light streaming through cracked windows.
The chalkboard, smeared with equations no one understood '22 + 24 = ?', bore the scars of a hundred failed spells, its edges singed black.
Lor slouched at his desk in the back row, his black hair falling messily over hazel eyes that darted around the room with laziness.
To the public eye, he was just another D-class loser, scratching his head over the chalkboard's equation as if it were a riddle from the gods.
In truth, he'd solved it in his head the moment he saw it—46, obviously—but he scribbled 424 on his parchment, smudging it for effect.
Blending in was an art, and Lor was a master painter.
After all, in a world where men were rare at Vivian Academy and often mocked as "delicate," standing out was a one-way ticket to scrutiny.
Anyway.
His gaze drifted, as it often did, to the distractions that made D-class bearable.
The academy's uniforms were a gift from some depraved deity: short skirts that barely reached mid-thigh, thigh-high stockings that hugged plump legs, and blouses so tight they seemed designed to test the buttons' willpower.
Lor's eyes lingered on Eva, seated two rows ahead, her dark blue hair with pink streaks spilling over her shoulders.
Her large blue bow bobbed as she hunched over her desk, muttering curses at her soaked notes—courtesy of her own water magic misfiring again.
The damp blouse clung to her curves, outlining a figure that made Lor's pulse quicken.
He adjusted his posture, pretending to study while memorizing the way her skirt rode up as she shifted.
Focus, Lor, he chided himself, though his grin betrayed his enjoyment.
Back on Earth, he'd been a nobody, a 20-year-old college dropout killed in a car crash before he could make his mark.
Waking up in this fantasy world, with its laughably basic academics and complex magic, was like winning the cosmic lottery.
Math here was stuck at an elementary level, but magic and swordplay were intricate, requiring focus most D-class students lacked.
Lor could've aced every test and outshone the A-class prodigies, but where was the fun in that? Better to coast, unnoticed, and indulge his fantasies while the academy's strict anti-obscenity rules kept things… thrillingly risky.
The classroom door swung open, and Silvia, their teacher, stumbled in, her auburn hair tangled.
Her fitted robe, a deep green that hugged her figure, slipped slightly as she tripped over a desk, revealing a flash of lace beneath.
Lor's imagination roared, but he kept his face blank, doodling a lopsided circle on his parchment.
Silvia, in her mid-20s, was a walking contradiction: a skilled wind mage who could summon gusts strong enough to topple trees, yet clumsy enough to send her own papers flying.
Today, her glasses sat crooked on her nose as she clapped her hands, trying to wrangle the class's attention.
"Alright, everyone!" Silvia's voice was bright but strained, like a mother placating rowdy children. "Let's review yesterday's addition. Who can solve 22 plus 24?"
Half the class groaned, the other half stared blankly.
Eva slammed her quill down, her blue eyes flashing with frustration.
"This is pointless," she muttered, loud enough for Lor to hear.
A tiny jet of water spurted from her fingertip, soaking her desk again.
She cursed, fanning her notes, which only made her blouse strain further. Lor bit his lip, suppressing a smirk.
Oh, Eva, you're making this too easy.
Silvia called on a student who mumbled "50," earning a chorus of snickers.
Lor raised his hand, playing the part of the earnest idiot. "Uh, 424?" he ventured, scratching his head.
Silvia sighed, adjusting her glasses. "Close, Lor, but no. It's 46. Pay attention, please." He nodded sheepishly, catching Eva's eye-roll from across the room.
Perfect. Keep underestimating me.
Class dragged on, a parade of fumbled spells and wrong answers.
A girl's fire spell singed her bangs, another's wind charm knocked over a chair, and Eva's attempt at a water orb left a puddle under her desk.
Silvia, ever patient, corrected them with a mix of pity and exasperation.
When the bell rang—a shrill, enchanted chime that echoed through the ivy-covered halls—the class erupted into chatter.
Students shuffled out, gossiping about A-class prodigies or the upcoming sword-and-magic sparring session.
Lor lingered, pretending to pack his spellbook, a battered tome he barely used.
Eva stayed behind, her head thudding against her desk with a dramatic thwack.
Her crumpled test paper, marked with a bold red 2/100, lay beside her.
The test, handed back that morning, had been a simple addition quiz, yet Eva had flunked spectacularly.
Lor's heart raced.
Opportunity knocks.
He grabbed his spellbook and strolled over, feigning surprise.
"Rough day?" he asked, leaning against a desk. Eva's head snapped up, her blouse shifting to reveal a hint of black lace bra as a button popped loose.
Lor's eyes flicked down, then back up, his face a mask of concern.
"Mind your own damn business, loser," Eva snapped, yanking her blouse closed.
Her cheeks flushed, but her glare softened as she noticed his spellbook. "What, you forget something? Or are you just here to gawk?"
Lor shrugged, letting his hazel eyes meet hers with just enough sincerity to disarm her.
"Just grabbing this. Saw your test, though. Two out of a hundred? That's… rough." He kept his tone light, teasing, but his mind was racing.
Eva was ambitious, desperate to climb to A-class, but her math was abysmal, and her water magic was a literal mess.
She was the perfect mark for his scheme.
Eva groaned, shoving her test paper into her bag. "Don't remind me. I'm never getting out of D-class at this rate." Her skirt rode up as she stood, revealing a glimpse of plump thigh above her stockings.
Lor's throat tightened, but he played it cool, slinging his spellbook under his arm.
"I could help with that test score," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But it's… a secret method."
Eva froze, her blue eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about, Lor? You're barely passing yourself."
He smirked, turning toward the door.
"Think about it. I've got my ways." He walked out, leaving her staring after him, her expression a mix of suspicion and desperation.
The classroom's magical graffiti flickered behind her, casting her silhouette in a soft, eerie glow.
Step one, complete, Lor thought, his grin widening as he stepped into the bustling hallway.