"Ready, Nellie?" Lor asked, his voice low and inviting, his black hair falling over his hazel eyes as he leaned against the doorframe.
His grin was subtle, a mix of charm and calculation, his average build blending into the shadows.
Nellie's cheeks flushed pink, her glasses fogging slightly as she nodded, her braids bobbing like nervous antennae. "I-I… I need help," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, her gray eyes darting to the floor.
"I'm at the bottom. In everything. Spell-casting, written tests, mana control, combat form. I can't… I can't stay like this." Her fingers tightened around her wand, its chipped wood trembling.
"I heard about Eva and Olivia. How they're… better now. I saw Eva hit the target today, and Olivia's flames were so steady. I'll do… whatever it takes."
Lor's grin widened, his hazel eyes tracing her form—her petite frame, her thick thighs shifting under the tight skirt, the way her ass strained the fabric with every nervous fidget.
She was no Eva or Olivia, with their bold curves and fiery confidence, but her raw desperation was intoxicating.
A blank canvas for his "Guiding Light" to mold.
"Whatever it takes, huh?" he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"The Guiding Light's personal, Nellie. Private. And sometimes… humiliating. You sure you're ready?"
Nellie's breath hitched, her glasses slipping further, but her eyes met his, wide and terrified yet burning with resolve.
"I don't want to be at the bottom anymore," she whispered, her voice cracking. "If you can help me, like you helped them… I'll do it."
Lor nodded, pulling the familiar coin from his pocket, his fingers twitching with a subtle pulse of magic—precise, controlled, far beyond what Class D suspected him capable of.
He sat on a desk, closing his eyes for effect, the coin wobbling, then rising smoothly, its gleam catching the dim light. "What guidance do you seek, child?" he intoned, his voice deep and theatrical, barely hiding his amusement.
"I want to improve my math… and my spell precision," Nellie said, her voice trembling but firm. "For the tournament. I want to hit the target and pass the tests."
The coin spun, then dropped with a soft clink. Lor pressed a hand to his forehead, feigning strain, his mind racing.
Normally, the Guiding Light demanded one favor per ritual, but Nellie's desperation called for more.
Her dual request—math and spell precision—gave him an idea, bold and deliciously absurd.
"The Guiding Light has spoken," he said, his hazel eyes opening.
"For the duration of your lessons, you must wear a sexy cat girl costume. You'll say 'meow' with every sentence, and between sessions, you'll crawl on the floor for one minute."
Nellie's face turned scarlet, her braids bouncing as she stepped back, her skirt flashing a glimpse of thigh-high stockings.
"A s-sexy c-cat costume?" she squeaked, her hands flying to her mouth. "Crawling? Meow? That's… that's so embarrassing!" Her thick thighs trembled, her big ass shifting under the skirt as she hugged her bag tighter.
Lor raised his hands, his tone soothing but firm.
"The Light demands what it demands, Nellie. Your mana's scattered, your focus weak. The costume will ground you, make you feel the magic in your body. The 'meow' will focus your voice, your breath. Crawling will humble you, connect you to the earth's mana."
It was nonsense, of course, but he knew the costume would distract her from her nerves, the act of crawling would force her to relax her tense posture, and the "meow" was so that she talks less and focuses more.
Plus, the image of her curvy ass in a tight cat costume?
Pure gold.
Nellie bit her lip, her glasses fogging completely, her eyes darting between him and the door.
"O-Okay… meow," she whispered, testing the word, her voice barely audible. "But not here. My house. I… I will get a costume and I'll wear it there, meow." Her cheeks burned, but her resolve held, her desperation outweighing her embarrassment.
Lor's heart raced, his grin spreading. He didn't tell her to start saying meow from now itself, but he didn't deny her to either.
"Deal. Your place, after school. Bring the costume and your spellbook, meow." He winked, savoring her flustered nod as she scurried out, her braids bouncing, her skirt swishing over her thick thighs.
As the door swung shut, a shadow flickered in the hallway—green hair, a piercing glare.
Viora, with Myra at her side, their curvy figures tense with suspicion.
Lor's grin didn't falter.