CHAPTER 191: MASKING

Lor flashed a faint grin, masking the truth with an easy lie. "Just... Getting a little air before heading in."

They nodded, accepting his words without question, their gazes softening with trust, or, they didn’t care prying deeper.

"How’s your studying going?" he asked, tilting his head, his tone light.

Inside, his mind teetered on a dangerous edge, the memory of the last to last night with Lia and Sophia and then the hot orgy flickering sharp—Lia’s mother, her red curls, the freckles across her shoulders, the way she’d gasped under him.

His cock twitched, traitorous, and panic spiked through him.

Beetles. Ants. Rotting cabbages. Lizards.

He shoved the image away, desperate to douse the heat before it betrayed him.

"It’s going well, thanks to you," Lia said, her smile small but genuine, her green eyes soft with gratitude. "Your guidance last time... it really helped. I’m actually starting to get the hang of spell theory."

Sophia nodded eagerly, her twin-tails bouncing. "Same! I was hopeless with numbers before, but you made it make sense. I might not fail the tournament after all."

Lor’s grin widened, their praise warming his chest, though the shadow of his thoughts lingered.

"You’re both tougher than you think," he said, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "Keep at it, and you’ll be outshining half the class."

Lia’s cheeks pinked, and Sophia giggled, her hand brushing her satchel strap.

The crowd surged around them, students funneling through the gates, but for a moment, it was just the three of them.

Sophia’s twin-tails bounced as she nodded vigorously, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. "I even completed my homework in record time for the first time ever."

Lor chuckled, a wave of relief steadying the churn of his thoughts. "Glad to hear it. Keep at it."

Their smiles were bright, unguarded, and they waved before slipping through the academy gates, vanishing into the tide of uniforms.

Lor adjusted his satchel, ready to follow, when two more voices cut through the morning bustle.

"Lor!"

"Lor!"

He turned to see Viora and Myra strolling up the path, their steps light but purposeful.

Viora’s green hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, loose strands framing her sharp face, her uniform skirt clinging to her thick thighs, creased from a rushed morning.

Her eyes gleamed with mischief, her shoulders tilted defiantly, her blouse slightly untucked, as if she’d dared the academy’s rules to challenge her.

Beside her, Myra moved with a playful, polished energy, her brown hair catching the sunlight like polished wood.

Her blouse strained faintly over her breasts, the buttons holding on with quiet determination, and her brown eyes sparkled with a teasing sharpness, every smile carrying an edge.

She adjusted her satchel strap with a flourish, the motion deliberate, drawing attention to her curves.

Both girls grinned as they reached him, their presence a spark in the morning air.

"Busy with your rituals lately?" Myra teased, her voice light but cutting, her eyes glinting with knowing amusement. "It is

tournament season."

Lor chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender, his grin easy. "You could say that."

Viora leaned closer, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Well, if you can spare us some of your holy grace..."

"...we wouldn’t complain," Myra finished, punctuating the sentence with a playful wink.

Lor laughed, shaking his head, the heat of their teasing warming his chest. "I’ll find some time. Promise."

Their eyes sparkled, satisfied, and the three of them passed through the gates together.

Lor noted with quiet surprise that neither Viora nor Myra slowed, neither glanced over their shoulders with the cautious fear that shadowed so many others when Kiara’s name hung in the air.

They walked with him, unbothered, their strides confident, as if daring anyone to question their place at his side.

Their boldness impressed him, a quiet defiance that stood out in the sea of whispers.

Class D’s doors loomed ahead, the hum of voices spilling into the hallway—students revising, gossiping, or dozing in corners.

Lor stepped inside, Viora and Myra peeling off to their desks with a final wave, and his eyes found her immediately.

Kiara.

She sat by his seat, long legs crossed casually beneath the desk, her toned frame relaxed but commanding in her crisp uniform.

Her blouse strained over her bust, the fabric pulling taut with each breath, and her dark skirt cut sharply across her thighs, accentuating their strength.

Her icy-blue eyes locked onto him the moment he entered, piercing and unyielding, a silent claim that made the room feel smaller.

Then—

She waved, a small, knowing gesture that carried the weight of possession.

The chatter in the room dipped, a collective pause as if everyone sensed the shift.

Lor’s lips tugged into a grin, his feet carrying him toward her, drawn like a moth to flame.

Kiara rose as he approached, her tall frame closing the distance, her presence filling the space between them.

Without hesitation, she cupped his jaw and kissed him.

It wasn’t a shy brush or a fleeting tease—it was a lover’s kiss, confident, open, hot enough to steal the air from the room.

Her lips moved against his with a fierce tenderness, her tongue brushing his, her breath warm and claiming.

The thirteen students (excluding Kiara and Lor) of Class D stared, stunned, as the fiercest girl in the class melted into Lor’s lips, her hands framing his face like she owned him.

Lor kissed her back, his hazel eyes fluttering closed, the taste of her—clove, honey, and something uniquely Kiara—drowning out the world for a moment.

When they broke apart, the air was thick with tension, whispers rippling through the desks like a tide.

Kiara’s eyes held his, a smug glint dancing in them, and Lor felt a curl of satisfaction in his chest.

She had claimed him again, right here, in front of everyone, and the thrill of it—her boldness, her fire—made his pulse race.

He leaned in, his voice low, meant only for her. "You don’t hold back, do you?"

Her lips curved, a wicked smile. "Never."

The room buzzed with whispers, but Lor didn’t care.

Let them talk. Let them stare.

They will come to me one way or the another.

Kiara’s kiss was a brand, and he wore it with a grin, knowing every eye in Class D was on them—and loving every second of it.