Academy's Pervert in the D Class

Chapter 325: The Weeknd Evening

"I will tie you up now."Ameth’s voice was flat.

She did not ask permission. She did not wait for agreement. She simply stepped behind him and folded the dark cloth over his eyes.

The fabric was thick, soft on the outside, rough against his skin.

Her fingers moved with the calm precision of someone who had done this many times before, to other people, in other circumstances that had nothing to do with him and he didn’t want to ask.

She knotted it firmly at the back of his head.

The world went black. The sudden loss of sight sharpened every other sense.

He could hear the soft rustle of her tunic as she shifted her weight. He could smell the faint scent of vegetables and earth that still clung to her clothes from the market.

"Arms," she said.

Lor put them behind his back without resistance. She bound his wrists with a thin cord — tight enough that the knots pressed against the bones of his wrists, not tight enough to cut circulation.

The cord was smooth, almost silky, but strong. He tested it once, gently.

It held.

"You can do anything kinky if you want," he said pleasantly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, lazy smile she could not see.

"I won’t mind."

A pause. The air between them was still. He could hear the faint shift of her weight on the stone floor, the soft rustle of her tunic as she straightened.

Then, from behind him, her voice came, colder than usual.

"Quiet."

She took his arm and guided him forward.

They walked.

Lor counted steps.

Cobblestone first, uneven and slightly damp under his boots.

The sound of their footsteps changed as the surface shifted. Hollow thuds of wooden planking followed, the boards creaking softly under their combined weight. Then stone again.

The air grew cooler with every step, heavier, carrying the faint mineral scent of deep earth and old moisture.

The sounds of the city above faded completely. No voices. No cart wheels. No birds. Only the quiet rhythm of their footsteps and the distant, almost imperceptible drip of water somewhere far below.

He used a thin thread of wind magic to sense the space around him. It was not as clear as sight.

The information came in impressions rather than images — the shape of the corridor, the thickness of the walls, the way the air moved or failed to move.

The passage was narrow. The ceiling was low enough that a taller man might have needed to duck.

Doors appeared at regular intervals, heavy and reinforced. Three of them opened in sequence. Each one thicker than the last.

Each one sealed with a soft, final thud that cut off the world behind them a little more completely.

They were deep. Much deeper than street level.

Right below the kingdom’s palace, if his sense of direction had not failed him.

It looked like someone had spent a great deal of effort making sure this place stayed hidden and secure.

They stopped.

Lor stood with his wrists bound and his eyes covered in a room that smelled of candle wax and old stone and something faintly floral.

The silence was complete except for the soft sound of Ameth’s breathing somewhere to his left and the distant drip of water that had followed them all the way down.

He could feel the size of the chamber through the way sound behaved. It was larger than the corridors. High ceiling.

Stone walls that absorbed rather than reflected. A place designed for privacy and control.

Then — heels.

A slow, unhurried rhythm against stone. Even. Confident. In no particular rush.

The sound of someone who had never once had to move quickly for anyone.

Click. Click. Click.

They stopped somewhere in front of him.

A moment of quiet stretched. Lor could feel the weight of attention settling on him like a physical thing.

The floral scent grew stronger.

Whoever stood in front of him was studying him the way someone might study a new piece of art or a particularly interesting puzzle.

Then.

Clap Clap clap

Applause.

Light, genuine, the kind that belonged at a recital.

"Ameth." The voice was warm.

Musical, almost.

It carried easily through the stone chamber without needing to be raised.

"You brought him. I’m pleased."

Ameth said nothing. Lor could feel her presence shift slightly.

"Though very late," Aurora added, the warmth not dimming at all. "But you brought him."

The sound of something small and heavy sailing through the air reached him.

A pouch landing on stone with a full, metallic clink, rolling once before settling somewhere to Lor’s left.

Coins.

A lot of them, from the weight of the sound.

The payment for delivery.

Silence followed.

Then the soft sound of Ameth crouching. The clink of coins being counted one by one.

Every single one. Lor listened to the careful rhythm of metal against metal.

She was not rushing. She was verifying.

That was Ameth.

Practical to the bone. She would not leave until she was certain the full amount was there.

"You may go. Don’t be rude to someone who gave you a little extra," Aurora said.

The counting stopped.

A beat of stillness.

Then Ameth’s footsteps — steady, unhurried, moving toward the door.

Lor felt rather than heard her pause just briefly, her presence shifting somewhere to his left as if she had turned to look at him once. The pause lasted only a second. Then the heavy door opened. Closed.

Gone.

The room felt larger without her in it. The silence deepened.

The floral scent remained, and the soft flicker of candlelight against the blindfold’s fabric.

Lor stood still, wrists bound, listening.

The absence of Ameth’s presence changed the weight of the air. Whatever came next would be between him and the woman who had paid for his delivery.

The heels resumed — closer now, circling slowly. Lor tracked them by sound alone.

Patient. Assured.

She was taking her time, studying him from every angle.

The click of her heels against stone was deliberate, as if she wanted him to feel every second of the wait.

Then fingers found the knot at the back of his head and pulled it loose in a single smooth motion.

The blindfold fell away.