Academy's Pervert in the D Class

After calculating her expenses, buying new under garments, she'd pocketed a tidy twelve silver coins in pure profit.

Enough to justify a rare indulgence.

She'd stopped by the market on her way home, her expression as stoic as ever, and purchased a small luxury: a cut of smoked venison, rich and fragrant, and a loaf of honey-glazed bread from the baker who rarely sold to anyone without a noble's purse.

Tonight's dinner would be special, a quiet reward for her efficiency.

She stepped out of the tub, water sluicing off her body, her toned legs and arms gleaming in the candlelight.

Her breasts, full and firm, bounced slightly as she reached for a towel, drying herself with the same mechanical precision she applied to everything.

From a small wooden box on the counter, she pulled out her new purchases: a black lace bra and matching panties, delicate but sturdy, bought with Lor's share which he bartered for her undergarments.

She slipped them on, the lace cool against her skin, hugging her curves snugly, the panties clinging to the subtle mound between her thighs.

She didn't linger to admire herself—vanity was a waste of time—but the new garments felt like a quiet assertion of her control, her ability to turn even Lor's perversion into profit.

Dressed in a simple gray tunic and loose trousers, she moved to the small kitchen of her modest home, the floorboards creaking faintly under her bare feet.

The venison sizzled in a pan, filling the air with a savory aroma, while the bread sat sliced on a wooden board, its golden crust catching the light.

Ameth prepared her meal with the same efficiency she brought to her axe swings, her face blank, her movements exact.

She sat at the small table, eating slowly, the rich meat tender on her tongue, the honeyed bread sweet and soft.

Her expression didn't change—no smile, no sigh of pleasure.

But a flicker of satisfaction and just the steady rhythm of chewing, her hazel eyes distant.

Knock Knock

A knock at the door broke the silence, sharp and unexpected.

Ameth paused, her fork halfway to her mouth, her brow furrowing slightly—the closest she came to surprise.

She set the fork down, wiped her hands on a cloth, and rose, her steps silent as she crossed to the door.

The night outside was dark, the single lantern by her doorstep casting a weak glow across the stone path.

She opened the door, expecting nothing but the empty street.

Instead, a folded piece of parchment lay on her doorstep, its edges crisp, sealed with a wax sigil she recognized instantly: the crest of the kingdom's Princess, a stylized hound's head.

Ameth's lips pressed into a thin line.

She glanced around—no one in sight like always, the street silent except for the distant hum of a tavern—then bent to pick it up, her fingers brushing the paper's smooth surface.

She unfolded it under the lantern's light, and her breath caught, a rare crack in her stoic facade.

The parchment bore a sketch of Lor's face, unmistakable—his messy hair, that infuriating smirk, those hazel eyes.

Below the drawing, in elegant script, was a single line: Bring him to the Hound's Den.

10 gold coins.

Ameth's grip tightened on the paper, the edges crinkling slightly.

She worked for the Princess—had for years, a shadow in her employ, handling the dirty tasks no noble would touch.

Deliver this package, retrieve that artifact, bring him in to silence his loose tongue—whatever the Princess demanded, Ameth provided, no questions asked, her payment collected in cold coin.

It was clean, transactional, the only kind of loyalty she trusted.

But this?

This was Lor.

The boy who'd bartered for her underwear with a grin, who'd matched her ice with his own, who'd helped improve her business, who was the reasons she was eating venison steak.

Her icy blue eyes narrowed, the parchment crumpling slightly in her hand.

She didn't know why the Princess wanted him—she shouldn't care, in truth.

Her job was to deliver, nothing more.

Yet something stirred in her chest, a faint flicker she didn't recognize, not quite anger, not quite hesitation.

She folded the paper carefully, tucking it into her tunic, and returned to her dinner, her expression blank once more.

The venison was still warm, the bread still sweet, but as she ate, her mind churned, calculating.

Ten gold coins was a fortune—more than she'd make in a month normally.

She sat down and once again chewed slowly, her hazel eyes fixed on the flickering candle flame across the room, its steady dance casting wavering shadows on the walls.

Her face remained impassive, a blank canvas of stoicism—no smile, no sigh of indulgence, just the precise rhythm of eating, as mechanical as swinging her axe through wood.

But beneath that frozen exterior, her mind began to churn, thoughts uncoiling like frost creeping inexorably across a windowpane, turning clarity into a web of icy patterns.

What could the Princess possibly want with Lor?

The question lodged in her thoughts like a splinter, small but insistent, refusing to be ignored.

The Princess's requests were always precise, impersonal—artifacts to retrieve from shadowed vaults, rivals to intimidate with veiled threats, loose ends to tie off with cold, efficient finality.

Men her age?

That was rarely her domain.

Ameth had handled deliveries of information or trinkets, but never someone her own age, let alone a boy like Lor.

Her orders came through sealed missives or whispered couriers, always detached, always about power plays in the court's intricate games.

This felt... different.

Personal.

She paused mid-bite, the fork hovering inches from her lips, a faint chill running down her spine despite the warmth of the room.

Was the Princess dipping into her mother's infamous appetites?

The Queen had a notorious reputation, whispered about in the taverns and back alleys where Ameth gathered her intel.

Her "appetite" for young men was legendary—a voracious hunger that lured handsome, virile lads into her opulent chambers for days on end.

Ameth had heard the tales from palace servants, their voices hushed with a mix of awe and disgust: the Queen, draped in silks and jewels, toying with her playthings like a cat with mice, drawing out their stamina until they emerged—if they emerged at all—hollow-eyed, trembling, marked by exhaustion and something darker, more possessive.

Sessions that stretched into marathons of pleasure and dominance, leaving the men spent, their bodies used and discarded, or worse, bound in subtle magical leashes to serve her whims again.

The Princess had always seemed above such indulgences, her commands focused on strategy and control rather than carnal whims.

But blood ran true, and if she was awakening to that side of her heritage...

Why Lor?

Why now?

Ameth set the fork down with a soft clink, her appetite waning as the thought took deeper root, branching into uncomfortable possibilities.

He wasn't the type to turn heads in a crowd of suitors.

Lor's features were ordinary at best—messy black hair that fell into his eyes, a smirk that teetered on irritating rather than seductive, a lean build but lacking the sculpted perfection of palace guards or noble heirs.

There were hotter men in the kingdom, ones with chiseled jaws, broad shoulders, and eyes that could melt steel—knights who paraded through the markets, merchants' sons with silken charm, even academy prodigies with faces like carved marble.

Ameth had seen them all, delivering packages or shadowing targets, and none had stirred even her indifferent gaze for more than a second.

Lor was... unremarkable.

Functional, like a tool she might use for a job.

His appeal, if any, lay in that hidden edge she'd glimpsed in the forest—the surge of mana, the casual power he masked behind laziness.

But sex?

It didn't fit her.

Unless the Princess had a taste for the unassuming, the kind of boy who could be broken without resistance.

Or wait—maybe it wasn't about sex at all.

Ameth leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking faintly under her weight, her fingers drumming once on the table before stilling.

She'd seen the truth of him that day: the way his ice spear had shattered hers mid-air, thicker and faster, a raw display of strength he buried under a facade of mediocrity.

He hid it well from the world—fooling classmates, teachers, maybe even his parents—but not her.

His mana leaked in subtle tells.

She hadn't cared enough to ask about it then; questions were entanglements, and entanglements were weaknesses.

But now?

Perhaps that's why the Princess wanted him.

Lor was stronger—much stronger—than he let on, a hidden asset or threat in the kingdom's underbelly.

Knowledgeable in ways that could unravel secrets, with a shady past lurking behind that grin?

Does he?

Ameth's mind flashed to rumors she'd overheard during her deliveries: whispers of rogue mages, forbidden rituals, unaware boys like him vanishing into the night after crossing the wrong noble.

Maybe the Princess had finally caught wind of him, piecing together his deceptions?