Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 962

Chapter 962: Chapter 222.2 – The Antagonist
“Says the one who’s about to throw down with Lilia like it’s a national event.”

Irina didn’t miss a beat. “This is how I am,” she said simply, her voice composed and unapologetic.

Lilia smirked, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Indeed. You like to show off, Irina. You’re no different from Julia when it comes to that.”

Irina arched a brow, almost amused. “Guess I am.”

“Oh? In denial too?” Lilia countered with a half-laugh. “You strike with a flourish every time. It’s basically choreography at this point.”

“Elegance isn’t showing off,” Irina replied, lifting her chin slightly. “It’s efficiency with flair.”

Julia snorted. “You two bicker like high-fashion assassins.”

At that moment, footsteps approached, steady and familiar. Ethan arrived beside them, his expression unreadable, arms loose at his sides as he took in the group dynamic.

Julia’s eyes sparkled instantly. She tilted her head toward him with a grin already forming. “Well, well, look who’s here. Ready for your big debut, Mr. Hartley?”

Ethan gave her a wary look. “Debut?”

“With Victor.” Julia gestured dramatically across the room, where the golden-eyed prodigy stood calmly adjusting his gloves, radiating quiet menace. “The matchup of the year. You versus the academy’s golden myth. I’ve got front-row tickets and everything.”

A faint bead of sweat traced down Ethan’s temple, betraying the composure he tried to hold. His gaze flicked across the room once more—Victor still stood motionless, almost statuesque, like he had nothing to prove… yet everything to dominate.

Ethan exhaled quietly. “You can talk like that because you’re not the one standing across from him.”

Julia grinned. “Exactly. That’s why I can talk like this.”

But Ethan didn’t sound bitter. If anything, there was a spark beneath the words. He rolled his shoulder, loosening the tension in his arm, eyes still fixed on Victor’s frame as it caught the light like something carved from old war legends.

“Still,” he said, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful, “I’ve wanted this.”

Irina turned slightly toward him, arms still crossed. “You mean, to test yourself?”

Ethan nodded. “I want to see his level. Really see it. Everyone talks about him like he’s already beyond us. Untouchable.” His fingers curled unconsciously. “If that’s true… I want to know exactly how far behind I am.”

Lilia tilted her head. “That’s a dangerous kind of curiosity.”

Ethan gave a half-smile. “Maybe. But you don’t get stronger by avoiding the best. You get stronger by standing in front of them—and staying on your feet.”

Julia gave a low whistle. “Damn. That was actually kinda cool.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Ethan muttered, the sweat on his forehead already drying as the heat of focus replaced it.

From across the training hall, Victor finally moved—just a single step forward, but it was enough. The air around him shifted, like the pressure in the room had subtly changed.

Ethan noticed.

His fingers tightened once around the strap of his glove.

Julia leaned toward Astron, murmuring playfully, “This match might actually outshine mine.”

Astron didn’t look at her. His eyes were on Victor too.

“…We’ll see.”

*****

The arena floor was silent—polished stone marbled with faint mana lines, quiet hums of enchantments pulsing beneath Ethan’s boots. The muted crowd of students lined the walls behind the barrier, murmurs muffled by a layer of sound-dampening magic. This wasn’t a real tournament. No cameras. No sponsors. No declarations of glory.

Just a practical training match.

Yet somehow, the weight in the air said otherwise.

Ethan stepped forward, the edge of the ring behind him, the echo of his footsteps crisp and solitary. Every breath he took felt heavier now, more real. He wasn’t nervous—but there was a kind of silence before the storm, like his body understood something his mind hadn’t yet accepted.

Across the arena, he stood.

Victor Blackthorn.

Dark chestnut hair, neatly swept back without seeming overly polished. Emerald green eyes, deep and unreadable—quiet, but never soft. His expression was composed, focused, as if he’d already mapped out every strike that could happen in the next ten minutes. His uniform bore not a single wrinkle, his stance completely at ease.

And still, he looked every bit the predator.

Not in a threatening way.

But in the way a falcon looks poised just before it dives—measured, silent, and utterly lethal.

Damn, Ethan thought, not without a strange admiration. He really is handsome, huh.

Victor looked like someone who had never once fallen behind, who had been carved from the shape of expectations and pressure—and still came out standing taller.

This close, Ethan could see the slight glow around Victor’s boots—the micro-adjustments of mana for balance and tension, constant, precise. Not flashy. Just perfect.

They hadn’t spoken yet.

No trash talk. No bravado. Not even a nod.

Victor didn’t need to posture.

And Ethan…

He inhaled, rolled his shoulders once, and took his stance.

He didn’t want to posture either.

Because this was it.

A chance to see what the academy’s finest looked like, not in rumor—but in flesh and motion.

Eleanor’s voice echoed across the arena, clear and calm. “Begin when ready.”

Ethan’s head snapped up at the sound of Eleanor’s voice.

“Begin when ready.”

His brows knit briefly. Wait. Eleanor? When had she arrived? This session was supposed to be run by Instructor Verren, the easygoing guy with the half-permanent yawn and too much tea in his veins.

But standing just outside the boundary, arms folded behind her back, was Eleanor Virellian herself. Poised. Composed. Eyes like frost-glass.

He blinked.

Figures. Of course she’s here for this.

The thought didn’t linger long. He shook it off with a quiet grunt. Whatever.

Focus.

Ethan rolled his shoulders again, squaring his stance.

Across the ring, Victor remained still, the faint breeze rustling through the lower hem of his jacket. But now, with his arms relaxed at his sides, Ethan caught sight of something subtle—barely visible beneath the cuff of his sleeves.

A pair of restraining bracelets.

The soft, layered pattern of suppression bands shimmered faintly with every pulse of Victor’s mana.

Ethan exhaled quietly.

So his hunch was right.

Even now, they’re holding him back.

Not because Victor needed fairness.

But because without those bands, the gap would be… too wide.

Ethan didn’t need someone to say it. He could feel it in the air, in the way Victor’s presence condensed mana just by standing still. His instincts screamed the same truth his logic had tried to ignore:

Victor Blackthorn was beyond the realm of freshmen.

Maybe even beyond the realm of most in the academy.

And yet—

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

That was exactly why he wanted this.

Not to win.

But to see. To measure. To know.

He raised his hand.

Flash—

His spear materialized in an arc of lightning, surging into existence with a familiar, satisfying weight. The glow crackled at his fingertips before settling into a rhythmic hum across the length of the weapon.

Across from him, Victor finally moved.

A breath.

A motion.

And his long sword formed silently into his grip—no dramatic light, no flare of mana. Just clean, razor-straight steel, forged to match the man who held it. Not even the air dared resist its arrival.

They stood now, weapons in hand, no words exchanged.

No countdown.

Just the quiet acknowledgment of what was about to begin.

Ethan tightened his grip, his heartbeat falling into rhythm with the low crackle of his psions.

Victor didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

Let’s see how far I can get, Ethan thought.

Then he dashed forward.