"Please, Lor," Eva said, stepping closer. Her voice softened, but desperation threaded every word.
Her knit top hugged her frame, the edge of blue lace slipping into view as she leaned in. "We have to beat Class C. We'll do anything—give you anything. Just make this work."
Beside her, Olivia shifted. Her fists clenched at her sides, the fabric of her pants drawing taut over tense thighs. But her voice, though low, rang with steel.
"Lor," she said, eyes locked on his, "I know this is hard to accept. But you're one of us—Class D. Are you really okay with getting laughed at like that? Again?"
Lor rubbed the back of his neck, his lazy grin returning, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of nerves. "Alright, but… my nipples are sensitive, yeah? Go easy on me."
I am definitely going to hell if I die in this world.
Eva and Olivia exchanged a glance, a mix of determination, amusement, and nervous energy passing between them.
