Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 986

Chapter 986: Chapter 230.1 – Exam prep
Under the soft veil of the approaching evening, the academy grounds carried a stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant footsteps of passing students. The air was cool now, the warmth of the afternoon sun long faded, replaced by a gentle wind that carried the scent of grass and distant mana traces from the dueling halls.

Beneath one of the tall trees lining the outer courtyard, a girl stood—half in shadow, half bathed in the silver glow of the lanterns that lined the path.

She wore casual clothes this time, a light charcoal hoodie left unzipped over a fitted maroon tank top, the fabric hugging her form just enough to suggest ease without effort. Her black joggers sat low on her hips, tucked into combat boots that looked like they’d seen both training and style. Around her neck was a faint shimmer of a charm—small, reddish-gold, and old. Her long hair—fiery gold at the tips, deeper at the roots—was tied into a high, slightly messy tail that swayed with the breeze, and a few strands had slipped loose, framing her face with deliberate chaos.

Golden eyes glanced toward the path again, narrowed slightly, then rolled upward in clear annoyance.

“He is late,” she mumbled, crossing her arms beneath her chest.

He wasn’t. Not really.

But that didn’t stop her from saying it.

She shifted her weight onto one foot, letting her boot nudge a fallen leaf aside as she stared up at the canopy above. The branches swayed gently, the moonlight filtering between them in broken fragments, dancing over her skin.

All around her, the academy pulsed with low, controlled tension. Students passed by in small groups or alone, their steps quicker than usual, their conversations clipped and focused. No casual laughter, no lingering at the corners of the walkways—just muted chatter and the rustling of pages being skimmed on glowing tablets or folded papers.

Irina’s sharp ears picked up bits and pieces.

“—Professor Lorne’s adding spell formation matrices again. He never does that during mid-terms.”

“Someone said last year’s fourth-year exam was used for the second years this time. What the hell does that mean for us?”

“…and with all this tension in the academy, who knows what the faculty will do to weed people out?”

Irina tilted her head slightly, catching more voices on the wind. The atmosphere was changing.

The exams were next week.

And it wasn’t just the usual panic of unprepared students. It was deeper than that—rooted in uncertainty, in the shifting politics and unease that had been threading itself through the academy’s routines for weeks.

This year, the mid-terms weren’t just going to be hard.

They were going to be a test of control.

A filtering of potential threats.

She could sense it—some students were expecting the curriculum to be rewritten last minute. Others feared their results would be used to determine something beyond just rankings. Even now, conspiracy theories were bubbling beneath the surface—quiet but persistent.

She sighed. Not that she was worried about herself. But tension like this had a way of building pressure around everything, making people act rashly. Especially when the academy itself already felt like it was holding its breath.

And then—

A subtle pulse.

A shift in the air, faint, almost unnoticeable.

But she felt it.

A presence brushing past the edge of her senses, moving through the crowd with a pace too smooth, too deliberate, to be anyone but him.

She didn’t even turn yet. Just waited, lips curving ever so slightly.

And a moment later, he stepped into the moonlight.

Dressed in dark casual wear—simple, clean lines, a fitted long-sleeve with muted silver trim at the cuffs, black slacks, boots silent on the stone path. His silver hair caught the light just so, and his purple eyes met hers with that same unreadable calm he always wore.

Astron.

Exactly on time.

Of course.

She smirked to herself, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as he approached.

“Tch,” she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear. “Still so annoyingly punctual.”

She watched as he came closer, his steps unhurried, measured—like the world moved at a pace that only he dictated. His expression was the same as always: calm, unreadable, like nothing around him had the power to pull a visible reaction from his features unless he allowed it.

It was almost maddening.

Almost.

When he was close enough, she tilted her head, eyeing him with deliberate scrutiny.

“What is annoying about being punctual?” he asked without breaking stride, voice low and even.

Irina rolled her eyes, arms folding beneath her chest. “It makes me feel like you’re a robot.”

Astron paused in front of her, gaze leveling with hers. “I’m not a robot.”

“You look like one,” she replied immediately, smirking just slightly. “Like a very well-programmed, mana-efficient machine. Probably made by some recluse alchemist who hates emotional expression.”

There was a flicker in his eyes. Barely perceptible.

And then—

“It must be your eyes that are the problem,” he said.

Irina blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Faulty lenses,” he added after a beat, as if that clarified anything. “What you perceive is not what is real.”

She stared at him for a second, lips parting slightly.

“…Was that supposed to be philosophical?”

Astron tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely considering. “Accidental.”

Irina shook her head, a short laugh escaping her lips. “Only you could sound like a cryptic book of ancient wisdom and a malfunctioning mannequin in the same sentence.”

Astron said nothing, simply turning his gaze to the moonlit path ahead—like he hadn’t just casually said something that sounded like it belonged in a proverb.

Irina sighed, falling into step beside him.

“And they call me the dramatic one,” she muttered.

“I don’t,” Astron said.

She smirked, glancing sideways. “Yet.”

He didn’t answer. But she caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

As they walked beneath the quiet sway of tree branches and lantern light, Irina glanced at him sideways again, her hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie.

“So?” she asked casually, voice light but curious. “How was your training just now?”

Astron didn’t look at her, eyes still trained ahead, but he answered readily. “Eleanor is finally showing what makes her one of the best.”

Irina’s brows rose slightly. “The Invoker?”

“…Yes.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing with interest. “So she’s started teaching you about psions?”

“Yes,” Astron replied, his tone calm but not without weight. “It seems we’ve moved past the threshold she was waiting for.”

Irina let out a low whistle. “You’re quite lucky, you know. To learn from her directly?” She clicked her tongue. “Not many students ever get that far.”

“I can’t deny that,” he said simply.

Irina smirked. There was no envy in her voice—only a flicker of admiration and a quiet challenge. “Heh… Let’s hope that fancy psion training doesn’t make you forget how to dodge fire.”

Astron glanced at her, unbothered. “I wouldn’t make such a mistake.”

“Good,” Irina said, giving him a small nudge with her shoulder. “Because you’ll need that focus tonight.”

“…You make it sound rather….”

“Embarrassed?”

“Don’t push yourself.”

Astron shot her a look—sharp, quiet, the kind that held a warning without needing a single word to accompany it.

Irina giggled, not even bothering to hide it. That expression of his—half annoyed, half resigned—was far too rare, and it never failed to amuse her.

“Alright, alright,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave.”

He said nothing, but the flicker in his gaze lingered a second longer before he looked away.

Irina stepped ahead, casually tugging at his sleeve as she started walking. “Come on. Let’s go before certain people gossips about the dorms….”

Astron fell into step beside her without a word, his pace steady, unhurried.

The path back was quiet, the soft murmur of distant conversations and the rustle of wind in the trees their only companions. But it wasn’t silence born of awkwardness—it was a stillness they both understood.

Tonight, there would be no sparring. No combat drills or political maneuvering.

Just the soft glow of study lamps, notebooks spread across the table, and the low hum of mid-term tension hanging in the air.

It was what they had planned.

And for now—

That was enough.