Powerless Boy is reborn as Lustful Elf
Chapter 82: Elven Class

Chapter 82: Elven Class

Inolda’s bold eyes rolled with a dramatic sweep, a silent jab at Alex’s teasing comment about her attachment, her lips twitching but offering no words.

She lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, her pink curls splayed in a chaotic halo across the pillow, her vibrant tunic splayed open, exposing her sweat-slicked skin that shimmered faintly under the silvery glow of the ceiling’s crystal orb.

Her bare breasts rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths, her body heavy with exhaustion, the haze of their intense session dulling her usual fiery edge.

Alex’s amusement deepened, his red eyes glinting with a playful spark as he propped himself up on one elbow, the pillow soft beneath him, his body relaxed but thrumming with the afterglow of their encounter.

He watched her, a lopsided smile curving his lips, drawn to the steady rhythm of her breathing, the way her bold eyes stared upward, unfocused, caught in a sleepy stupor that softened her sharp demeanor.

The air was thick with the musky scent of their exertion, laced with her sharp floral perfume and a faint trace of ink from the cluttered desk nearby, where parchments lay scattered, untouched since the morning’s rush.

Alex’s gaze lingered, his mind drifting briefly to the system’s recent chime, Level 2 Elf, yet no discernible change, a nagging puzzle that faded in the face of Inolda’s presence.

Her vulnerability, stripped of her usual snark, was oddly compelling, a stark contrast to the bold, defiant girl who’d sparred with him earlier.

Curiosity stirred, and he broke the quiet with a casual, "So, what’re your abilities?"

Inolda’s bold eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, her expression unchanging, her voice flat as she answered, "I manipulate colors."

The words were devoid of emotion, a simple statement delivered with the weight of something long accepted, her chest rising and falling steadily, her fingers still against the covers, no hint of the defensiveness that would soon surface.

Alex’s brows lifted, his smile fading into genuine interest, his red eyes narrowing as he tried to wrap his mind around the concept in this strange elven world.

"How’s that work?" he asked, his voice warm but curious, leaning closer, his elbow sinking deeper into the pillow, eager for details, the idea of color manipulation intriguing yet alien given his own murky origins and undefined abilities.

Inolda’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze still locked on the ceiling, but a flicker of tension crossed her face, her voice sharpening with a bitter edge. "I can change the color of objects to whatever I want," she said, her tone harsh, almost daring him to judge her.

"Lame, right?" Her bold eyes finally flicked to his, a challenge sparking in their depths, her body still but her defensiveness flaring like a shield, as if braced for the mockery she’d clearly heard before.

Alex blinked, caught off guard, his smile faltering as he shook his head quickly, his eyes widening to convey sincerity.

"No, that’s not what I meant," he said, his voice earnest, trying to bridge the gap her tone had opened.

"It sounds... interesting." The word felt clumsy, but he meant it, his mind still grappling with the elven world’s rules, where abilities seemed to shape destiny, a system he was only beginning to understand, his own place within it still a mystery.

Inolda’s expression softened, but her laugh was dry, self-deprecating, her bold eyes returning to the ceiling, her voice quieter, tinged with resignation.

"It’s okay," she said, her tone flat again, accepting. "I get that reaction all the time. I know it’s lame myself."

She shrugged, the movement slight, her fingers twitching against the covers, her vulnerability raw, a truth that stung despite her attempt to brush it off.

"That’s why I work in the garden here," she added, her voice matter-of-fact, but the words carried a weight, a reality she’d internalized but still chafed against.

Alex’s brow furrowed, confusion knitting his features, his red eyes narrowing as he tried to follow her logic. "What’s that mean?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine puzzlement, his body shifting slightly, the pillow crinkling under his elbow.

The connection between her ability and the garden was lost on him, his newness to this world a constant hurdle, each conversation revealing another layer of its intricate, often unforgiving structure.

Inolda’s laugh was brighter, a sudden burst that cut through her haze, her bold eyes flicking to him, sparkling with amusement as she registered his confusion.

"Gods, I forgot you’re new here," she said, her voice teasing, a grin tugging at her lips, softening the earlier tension.

She remained lying on her back, her gaze drifting back to the ceiling, but her tone grew animated, her hands gesturing faintly as she launched into an explanation, her exhaustion giving way to a teacher-like clarity.

"The first elven world has a class system," she began, her voice taking on a lecturing edge, as if guiding a particularly clueless newcomer, her amusement at his ignorance fueling her energy.

Alex interrupted, his curiosity sharpening, his red eyes narrowing as he tried to piece it together, his mind grasping for familiar frameworks.

"So, what, you’ve got rich elves and poor ones?" he asked, his voice skeptical, drawing on vague human concepts of hierarchy, the only lens he had, though even that felt like a half-remembered shadow from a past he couldn’t fully grasp.

Inolda shook her head, her pink curls shifting against the pillow, her grin wry but patient, her bold eyes still fixed upward, as if the ceiling held the answers.

"Not really," she said, her voice steady, clarifying. "Resources are pretty well distributed in the elven world, no elf goes hungry or lacks shelter." Her tone carried a faint pride, a nod to a system that functioned, at least materially.

"But the class system’s about ability," she continued, her voice tightening slightly, the bitterness creeping back, her fingers stilling against the covers.

"Elves with cool, useful abilities, like telepathy or teleportation, get promoted to high-ranking jobs, all the prestige and power. The ones cursed with lame abilities, like changing colors..." She trailed off, her shrug heavy, her bold eyes darkening, her voice flat again.

"We do the menial jobs. Gardens, kitchens, maintenance. That’s our place."

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