Academy's Pervert in the D Class - Chapter 257
Chapter 257: crystalline
Within minutes, the outline of a cart took shape—huge wheels fused with crystalline ice for added durability, a wide bed reinforced with frozen seams that gleamed like polished glass.
The joints were smoother than any carpenter could manage in hours, each piece interlocking with a satisfying click as her magic wove it all together.
And she didn’t stop at one.
With a faint exhale, she conjured a second, mirroring the first, her breath fogging the air in rhythmic puffs.
When she finally stood, her hands dusted with a fine layer of frost that melted away in the warming sun, she simply said, “Done.”
Lor couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips, a genuine spark of admiration cutting through his earlier tension.
“Efficient. Almost impressively so.”
He stepped forward, inhaling deeply to center himself, then let mana flood his veins like a river breaking its banks.
His eyes glowed faintly, a pale blue light seeping through his lashes, casting ethereal shadows on his face.
Wind stirred at his feet, gentle at first, then building into a swirling vortex that sent leaves dancing wildly around them, whipping through the trees like playful spirits.
Ameth’s blonde hair whipped in the gust, strands escaping her ponytail to frame her face in a tousled halo.
She didn’t flinch, didn’t shield her eyes or step back.
She just watched him, those cold, blue, piercing eyes never wavering, holding his gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine unrelated to the chill in the air.
The logs began to shiver on the ground, then rise—slowly at first, one by one, creaking under the invisible force.
Then in neat stacks, lifted by unseen hands that gripped them with unyielding precision.
Bark cracked faintly under the strain, dust spilling down like a soft snowfall, catching in the wind and swirling around them.
Lor gritted his teeth, sweat prickling his brow as the effort built, a delicious burn in his core that reminded him how alive this power made him feel.
He gestured sharply, and the logs shifted mid-air, gliding smoothly through the currents and stacking themselves cleanly into the two ice-carts.
Each piece slotted in as if it belonged there from the start, the piles evening out until both carts brimmed with wood, balanced and secure.
The wind died down abruptly, leaves fluttering to the ground like confetti after a storm. Silence returned, broken only by the distant call of a bird.
Lor exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging just a fraction, but the glow in his eyes lingered a heartbeat longer before fading, leaving him feeling both drained and exhilarated.
Ameth didn’t clap.
Didn’t offer praise or even a smile.
She simply walked over to check the carts, her fingers tugging at the frozen rims with a critical eye, testing for weaknesses.
After a moment, she nodded once, satisfied. “Acceptable.”
Lor barked a laugh, half from the lingering exertion that made his limbs feel heavy, half from sheer disbelief at her nonchalance.
“Acceptable? That’s all I get? After that little show?”
“You wanted forty percent,” she said simply, already gripping the handle of one cart, her tone as matter-of-fact as ever, like they were discussing the weather instead of raw displays of magic.
Lor shook his head, the grin refusing to fade even as he grabbed the other handle. “You’re unbelievable.”
Her gaze flicked to him once more, unreadable in its depth, but her voice remained steady, cutting through the air like a whisper of frost. “So are you. Just stop pretending otherwise.”
And then she started pulling the cart as if nothing had happened, her strides confident and unhurried, the wheels crunching over fallen leaves.
Lor followed, still dazed from the clash of icicles and the unexpected vulnerability of being seen—truly seen—without judgment.
Her words echoed in his head, not as condemnation or fear, but as simple fact.
She’d pierced his secret and didn’t care enough to dig deeper.
She didn’t want his backstory, his motivations, his heart on a platter.
She wanted results, efficiency, and nothing more.
And somehow, that was scarier—and hotter—than anything else.
.
.
The forest thinned as the path widened, shafts of sunlight cutting down through the branches overhead like golden spears piercing the canopy.
Birds had begun to chirp again, their melodies tentative at first, then bolder, as if the woodland was shaking off the eerie stillness left by their earlier clash.
Here and there, the trees still whispered with frozen scars—icicles melting in slow drips, leaving dark, wet streaks on bark that glistened under the warming light.
They passed the group of sellers Ameth had frozen earlier, the scene now thawing into a pitiful tableau.
The ice encasing them was cracking audibly, sheets of frost dripping in rhythmic patters onto the forest floor, pooling in muddy puddles.
The men twitched sporadically, their fingers jerking like marionettes with cut strings, lips murmuring hoarse curses through chattering teeth as circulation returned in painful prickles.
One guy’s eyes rolled in half-conscious fury, his breath coming in ragged gasps, while another groaned something unintelligible, his face flushed red from the cold’s lingering bite.
Lor glanced at them, his brow furrowing in a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.
But Ameth didn’t even tilt her head.
She walked past as if they were nothing more than weathered stumps half-buried in the dirt, her boots crunching on dead leaves with unhurried precision.
Her cart wheels squeaked faintly in protest against the uneven path, and her ponytail swayed in rhythm with her steps, catching the light in subtle auburn highlights.
Lor couldn’t keep it in anymore; the silence was starting to itch under his skin like an unspoken challenge.
“You’re seriously not curious?” he asked, his eyes darting back to the frozen men as they receded behind them.
“Not even a little? About me skipping class today? About why I… hide my powers the way I do?” His voice carried a hint of defensiveness, laced with that persistent buzz of adrenaline from earlier.
Ameth glanced at him—just for one second, her cool hazel eyes brushing over his face like a fleeting chill wind.
Then her gaze returned to the path ahead, unwavering.
“No.”
“…No?” He echoed it, his tone pitching up in disbelief, as if she’d just denied the sky was blue.
“No,” she repeated, flat as ever, her words hanging in the air like a closed door.
Then, without breaking her stride, “And I also don’t care about whose lingerie you carry in your bag. Or what perverted little desire it feeds.”
Lor stopped dead in his tracks, the cart handle jerking in his grip as momentum pulled him forward a step.
“What—” His head whipped down toward his shoulder, eyes widening at his bag slung there.
It looked normal enough at first glance… until he noticed a faint seam, the fabric frayed open in a small tear from their earlier exertions, just wide enough to betray a glimpse of lace inside.
Shit.
His mind blanked for a heartbeat, heat shooting straight to his cheeks in a flush that burned hotter than the sun on his neck.
He touched the bag quickly, fingers trembling slightly as he muttered under his breath—a soft incantation that sent a thin shimmer of light weaving through the threads, sealing the tear closed with a faint hiss of repaired cloth.
But Ameth didn’t look back.
She didn’t slow down, didn’t tease or smirk.
She just kept walking, the wooden wheels of her cart creaking against the dirt path as if the revelation was beneath her notice.
Lor stared at her back, still rigid with embarrassment that twisted in his gut like a knot, then jogged a few steps to catch up, his boots kicking up small puffs of dust.
When he reached her side, he cleared his throat, the sound awkward in the quiet.
“…What about you, then? Why’re you skipping? You hardly ever do.” He tried to sound casual, but his voice came out a touch too eager, overcompensating.
Ameth’s lips pressed into a thin line, a subtle tell that she was weighing whether to bother responding.
But she did, her tone even as always. “Thanks to you, I’ve been making profits.”
“That’s good, right?” Lor said, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself, genuine relief flickering through the lingering awkwardness.
Her voice didn’t rise, didn’t fall—it stayed that steady monotone that somehow made every word feel deliberate.
“Now I’m more motivated to work and make money than sit in a chair all day listening to teachers drag lessons.”
“…Fair,” Lor muttered, nodding as he absorbed that, his mind piecing together the puzzle of her.
He hesitated, glancing at her profile—the sharp line of her jaw, the faint sheen of sweat from their labor drying on her skin—then added, “But… why do you want money so bad?”
It slipped out before he could filter it, curiosity winning over caution.
Her head turned, just a fraction, enough for her hazel eyes to lock on his again, holding him in place with that unflinching stare.
A pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken things.
Then.
“You don’t have to fill silence with petty talk.”