Lor sauntered to the casting line, every strand of his black hair slapping against the raw tension in the air.
Distraction gnawed at him—not from the pressure of the arena, but from a single-minded annoyance at Mistress Veyne, Class B's statuesque instructor.
Her emerald skirt, sculpted to her curves, had defied his playful breeze magic, remaining stubbornly motionless despite his subtle attempts to tease its hem.
The challenge ate at him, a private game he wasn't ready to abandon.
Joren and Lila leaned forward from Class C's crowded platform, their eyes glinting with predatory glee.
"Bet you can't even hit the disc!" Joren jeered, his slicked-back hair whipping in the wind, his voice carried by the enchanted gusts.
Lila's sharp laugh followed, her ponytail snapping as she raised an eyebrow. "Hit at least a five, and I'll—" She paused, savoring the taunt, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. "I'll flash my boobs."
Lor's eyes widened.
