Lor slouched at the back of Class D's cramped classroom, his black hair falling messily over his hazel eyes, his average build blending into the worn wooden desk.
He was the only boy in a sea of girls, a fact that earned him sneers and whispered jabs.
"Useless," one girl muttered as she passed his desk, her skirt swishing. "No magic, no brains," another giggled.
Lor ignored them, keeping his gaze fixed out the window—or so it seemed. In truth, his eyes flicked to the curves of their tight uniforms, the way their blouses strained against their chests, the glimpses of plump thighs beneath short skirts.
He had a secret which he never told anyone, he was a reincarnate from Earth, and while this world's magic and swords fascinated him, its women were the real spectacle.
At the front, Miss Silvia, their busty, clumsy teacher, scribbled on the chalkboard. Her auburn hair was pinned in a loose bun, her glasses slipping down her nose as she wrote, "22 + 24 = ?"
Her white jacket and pencil skirt clung to her figure, accentuating every sway of her hips. "Come on, class," she said, voice bright but strained. "Anyone?"
"48!" shouted a girl with blonde pigtails, her confidence unshaken.
"42!" called another, twirling green hair around her finger.
Miss Silvia sighed, then turned to Lor. "Lor, your turn."
He shrugged, keeping his voice dull. "424."
The classroom erupted in laughter, sharp and mocking.
A girl with red curls leaned over, whispering loudly, "As if he'd know."
Miss Silvia adjusted her glasses, a faint smirk on her lips. "That's… as far off as the moon, Lor. It's 46." She turned back to the board, oblivious to the sting of her words.
Lor didn't care.
He knew it was 46.
This world's education was a joke—second-grade math by Earth standards.
As a reincarnate, he could ace every test, master every spell, and dominate this academy if he chose.
But attention brought questions, and questions could unravel his secret.
So he played the fool, the talentless boy in a class of misfit girls, content to coast and enjoy the view.
And what a view it was.
Class D's girls were distractingly gorgeous, their uniforms designed like a pervert's dream: short skirts, thigh-high stockings, blouses that left little to the imagination.
Lor's eyes lingered on a girl in the front row, her skirt riding up to reveal a flash of lace panties.
Another adjusted her stockings, her fingers brushing her plump thighs.
He smirked, his fingers twitching under the desk.
A faint spark of magic danced at his fingertips—nothing flashy, just a subtle breeze he'd mastered in secret.
With a flick of his wrist, the air stirred, nudging the skirt of a brunette nearby.
The fabric lifted just enough to expose a sliver of pink fabric before she yelped, smoothing it down and shooting a glare around the room.
Lor kept his face blank, doodling in his notebook, the picture of innocence.
The girls' disdain for him only made it easier.
They thought he was useless, a mana-less nobody who didn't belong in their class.
Fine by him.
It meant they didn't suspect him when a "random" gust fluttered their skirts or a button popped loose on a too-tight blouse.
He was careful, never pushing it too far—just enough to keep his days entertaining.
Mid-lesson, Miss Silvia fumbled her chalk, and it clattered to the floor.
"Oh, bother," she muttered, bending down to retrieve it.
Her pencil skirt rode up, revealing the smooth curve of her ass cheeks and a glimpse of lacy black panties.
Lor's breath caught, his eyes glued to the sight.
Half the class giggled, the other half rolled their eyes, but Lor just leaned forward, committing the moment to memory.
Silvia straightened, blushing as she adjusted her skirt, oblivious to the fact that she'd just made his day.
"Focus, class," she said, flustered, pushing her glasses up.
But Lor was already lost in thought, planning his next subtle spell.
Class D might be the academy's dumping ground—full of girls with poor grades, weak magic, or social quirks—but it was his playground.
Most of them dreamed of climbing to Class C, B, or the elite Class A, where powerful mages trained for glory.
Their efforts always fell short, but Lor had no intention of helping.
Not yet.
For now, he'd keep his intellect hidden and his magic subtle, savoring the perks of being the only guy in a room full of curves.
The bell rang, and the girls filed out, their chatter echoing.
"Useless Lor," one muttered, brushing past him.
He shrugged it off, grabbing his bag and heading for the dorms, already plotting a nap.
Later that afternoon, Lor realized he'd left his spellbook in the classroom.
Grumbling, he trudged back, pushing open the door to find the room empty—except for one girl.
Eva sat at her desk, her dark blue hair with pink streaks spilling over her shoulders, the large blue bow on her head slightly crooked.
Her straight bangs framed a face twisted in frustration, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears.
She clutched a crumpled test paper, her curvy figure tense as she banged her forehead lightly against the desk.
Her tight uniform hugged her chest, the top button straining, and her skirt had ridden up, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her panties and plump thighs.
Lor's gaze lingered, his pulse quickening, before he forced himself to focus.
"Rough day?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe with a casual air.
Eva's head snapped up, her eyes blazing.
"Mind your own damn business, you creep," she snapped, her voice sharp but shaky. She shoved the test paper into her bag, but not before Lor caught the score: 2/100.
He raised an eyebrow.
Eva was one of Class D's loudest dreamers, always bragging about topping the class and climbing to Class A.
That score must've shattered her.
The other girls mocked her ambition, but she kept pushing, her fiery spirit as captivating as her figure.
For a moment, Lor considered walking away.
He didn't owe her anything—Class D's girls treated him like dirt, and he was happy staying invisible.
But her slumped shoulders, the way her bow quivered as she fought back tears, stirred something in him.
An idea formed, wild and risky, blending his sharp mind with his… less noble impulses.
He stepped closer, grabbing his spellbook but lingering by her desk.
"Math's not your thing, huh?" he said, keeping his tone light.
Eva glared, her cheeks flushed.
"What do you care? You're barely passing yourself, loser."
Lor's grin widened.
She had no idea he could solve her test in his sleep. He leaned against her desk, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What if I could help you ace the next math test? Get you closer to that Class A dream?"
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious but intrigued.
"You? Help me? What's the catch, creep?"
Lor's heart raced. This was it—the gamble that could change everything.
"Let's just say I've got a special method," he said, his grin turning mischievous.
"Interested?"