Academy's Pervert in the D Class
Chapter 87: threshold

Chapter 87: threshold

Lor stood at the threshold of the academy, the morning fog clinging to the stone gates like a reluctant lover, the first rays of sun piercing through in golden shards that danced across the cobblestones.

The campus loomed quiet and dignified beyond the iron arches, students trickling in around him like scattered pieces of a dream still forming, their whispers and footsteps a soft symphony of the day’s beginning.

Then—

Two warm hands slid over his eyes from behind, soft and insistent, blocking out the world in an instant.

"Guess who?" came a playful whisper at his ear, her breath hot and teasing, carrying that familiar citrus-spice scent that wrapped around him like a vice.

Lor didn’t flinch.

The voice, the perfume, the bold touch—it was all her.

"Kiara," he said flatly, his tone cool, detached, as if the word carried no weight.

"Beep!" she chirped, mimicking a ridiculous victory buzzer before peeling her hands away with a flourish, spinning him around to face her like a prize on display.

She looked radiant—too confident, too close, her dark bangs framing a sharp face etched with triumph.

Her uniform pushed the boundaries of regulation: skirt short enough to tease black lace, jacket undone at the chest to reveal the swell of her full breasts, one strap of her satchel dangling carelessly, as if rules were mere suggestions for someone like her.

Students passing by slowed, glances turning their way—nervous whispers rippling through the crowd like wind through leaves.

The queen bee and the class nobody, hand in hand?

It was scandalous, impossible, and they couldn’t look away, their eyes darting between curiosity and fear.

Kiara leaned in, her lips parting, lashes low and expectant, her icy blue eyes half-lidded with hunger.

She wanted that kiss again—the one he’d given her yesterday, the deep, consuming fire that had melted her spine, left her knees weak and her body aching long into the night.

She’d tried recreating it in the dark, pressing her lips to her pillow, then her teddy bear, mimicking the angle, the pressure, the teasing sweep of his tongue.

But it was nothing—hollow echoes that only fueled her craving.

All her life, she’d used kisses to forge connections—dull, predictable things meant to simulate closeness, to force a bond which never formed.

But Lor had shattered that illusion, blowing her mind with that searing moment of vulnerability and heat.

She needed it again, craved the way it made her feel alive, desired, out of control.

But Lor... only brushed a quick peck on her mouth.

Dry.

Distant.

A fleeting touch, gone before she could deepen it, before she could taste the fire she yearned for.

Kiara froze, her lips still parted after he pulled away, a flicker of confusion crossing her sharp features, her cheeks warming with unspoken disappointment.

That wasn’t what she wanted.

What happened?

Yesterday he’d unraveled her, left her breathless and trembling.

Today, he was ice—cold, distant, like a wall had slammed down overnight.

But strangely, she fancied this too—the chase, the unpredictability, the way it made her heart race, her body tingle with the thrill of conquest, her thighs pressing together subtly against the growing ache.

She didn’t show it.

Didn’t say a word.

Instead, she grabbed his hand casually, lacing her fingers through his like chains, possessive and unyielding.

"You’re late, boyfriend," she said sweetly, her voice a velvet blade as she dragged him past the gates, her breasts brushing his arm with every step.

Lor said nothing, just walked beside her, letting her ramble loudly about their "amazing date" from yesterday—which never happened—her words painting a picture of romantic walks and shared secrets while her presence warded off any wandering eyes that dared glance at him, her glare scattering them like frightened birds.

Inside the classroom, the hum of early arrivals quieted as eyes turned their way, the air thickening with unspoken tension.

Kiara spotted the girl with bubblegum-pink hair sitting beside her usual spot and shooed her away with a sharp wave and a glare that could shatter glass. "Move."

"But I—" the girl stammered, her artifact-slate glowing in her lap.

"Move." Kiara’s tone was final, a queen’s command.

The girl gathered her things and bolted, desk scraping in her haste, flustered cheeks burning as she relocated to the back.

Kiara shoved her desk beside Lor’s with a satisfied thud, the wood clacking together like a declaration of ownership.

She threw her bag down and crossed her legs with a smirk, resting her chin on her hand like she was the queen of everything—and Lor was her trophy, her pet, her plaything.

Lor exhaled through his nose, a subtle sigh hidden in his breath.

She was unpredictable.

Uncontainable.

And right now?

Unavoidable.

Her hand still gripped his under the desk, nails grazing his skin—a reminder of her claim.

Then came the sharp click of heels on tile, cutting through the murmurs like a blade.

Miss Silvia entered the room, her presence a quiet storm—auburn hair in a flawless bun, glasses gleaming under the light, her white jacket hugging her generous curves without a single wrinkle, her pencil skirt clinging to her hips as she moved with unyielding grace.

The moment her gaze swept across the rows, she noticed them—Lor, boxed in, his posture stiff with discomfort; Kiara, possessive, her body language screaming dominance.

Silvia’s jaw tensed behind her glasses, her transformed confidence flaring like a spark.

She didn’t hesitate.

"Kiara," Silvia said firmly, her voice honed like a blade, unflinching. "Move your desk back. Now."

A long silence followed, the classroom holding its breath.

Kiara’s smirk dropped like a mask cracking.

Her head snapped up, her icy blue eyes locking onto Silvia with a death glare—sharp, poisonous, promising slow, agonizing retribution.

The kind of look that had once cracked a boy’s nose for saying the wrong word in a hallway, her power radiating like a chill wind.

Silvia stiffened—but didn’t back down, her hands steady on her tome, though a subtle shiver ran through her.

One heartbeat.

Then two.