Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 991

Chapter 991: Chapter 232.1 – A silent confontration
The crisp chill of a spring morning settled gently over the stone pathways of the academy. Soft golden light filtered through tall windows into the spacious administrative conference hall where the inner faculty circle had already begun to gather.

A low hum of quiet conversation passed between professors, punctuated by the occasional rustle of parchment or the flick of a stylus on a grading slate. Steam rose from cups of dark roast on the long mahogany table, mingling with the heavier tension that had taken permanent residence over the past few weeks.

The air in the hall felt thinner than usual. Heavier.

Eleanor arrived first among the senior staff, her pace brisk, her coat sharp, and her presence composed despite the early hour. She slid into her seat with practiced ease, nodding curtly to the other professors, her tablet already in hand. The display pulsed faintly with a compiled breakdown of theoretical scores from all six classes.

Amelia arrived soon after—less stern, more openly engaged—nodding to familiar faces and exchanging a few words before she made her way toward the front, near the center of the table.

Moments later, the room hushed as Headmaster Jonathan entered.

As always, he did not need to raise his voice. He simply was. And that was enough.

“Let’s begin,” he said without preamble, taking his seat at the head of the table. “Professor Varrin, the status of grading?”

A wiry professor with wire-frame spectacles cleared his throat and adjusted the stack of papers beside him. “Ninety-two percent of all theoretical midterms are complete. The mechanics staff expect the rest to be finalized by tonight. Most of the statistical analyses are already available on the internal system.”

He tapped a rune-inscribed glyph on the table, projecting a translucent interface mid-air. Columns of scores, deviation graphs, and performance indicators materialized for the rest of the staff to view.

“Section three skewed heavily toward failure,” Professor Varrin added dryly. “Mana displacement theory seemed to crush most of their hopes.”

A few quiet chuckles rippled through the room.

Eleanor didn’t laugh.

“It was a necessary section,” she said, tone clinical. “Anyone entering active service or mentorship placements needs to understand it. Theories aren’t optional anymore.”

“Which brings us to the next topic.” Jonathan’s voice cut through the murmurs. “The academy’s funding from central Federation channels has been cut again. Twelve percent this quarter alone. And that number will likely continue to increase if we don’t provide the… necessary cooperation.”

A long pause followed. One of the logistics officers looked visibly uneasy.

“The Ministry of Internal Coordination has re-emphasized the ‘strategic role’ of hunter academies,” Amelia added smoothly, picking up where her father left off. “And in line with that emphasis, they’ve requested—and we’ve approved—the early attendance of guild scouts for this semester’s practicals.”

A stir of surprise, and then tension.

Professor Dahrin, an older instructor in charge of cadet fieldwork rotations, frowned. “That’s usually reserved for the final semester exams. Having scouts show up mid-year, and during mentorship placement weeks no less—it sends the wrong message.”

Another professor chimed in, a woman with ash-blonde hair and a crisp, clipped accent. “Some families will take it poorly. They’ll interpret it as the academy trying to offload cadets early. Which, to be frank, it will appear to be.”

Jonathan didn’t flinch. “Let them interpret it however they wish. It’s the scouts who requested early access, not the academy. We merely accommodated their presence.”

Eleanor’s gaze didn’t move from her screen. “They won’t be allowed to interfere with the mentorship pairings or the evaluations themselves. They’ll observe only. That was my condition.”

Another voice broke through the room’s rising unease.

“And if they start making recruitment offers? What then?”

All eyes turned to Professor Ryn, seated at the far end of the table. He leaned back, arms crossed. “You and I both know that once guilds see a promising cadet, they don’t wait for protocol. Especially not now, when the market for new hunters is stretched thin.”

“Then they will be reminded,” Jonathan said flatly, “that this academy is not a recruitment center. And that I will enforce our neutrality with the full extent of my position.”

The steel in his voice made it clear the conversation on that front was over.

Still, the murmurs continued. No one said it aloud, but the message was clear—the academy was under pressure, and every decision was being made with less room to maneuver.

Amelia spoke again, gentler this time. “The scouts attending early does give some of our cadets a chance to shine. We’ve all seen the rising curve. Some of the first-years are catching up at frightening speeds. Ethan Hartley. Livia Kros. Jin Tae. Even among the second-years, there are anomalies this time.”

Eleanor gave a slight nod. “More eyes watching will force them to mature faster. And right now, maturity is in short supply.”

Still, the discomfort in the room remained. Change was coming fast—too fast. And even the professors, veterans of many academic reforms, felt like this one was being driven by a force they couldn’t quite see or slow down.

Jonathan stood.

“Surveillance protocols are to be finalized by tomorrow,” he said. “Scouts will be permitted to attend the practicals, but their movement will be restricted to designated zones. Any attempt to breach that will be met with expulsion from the grounds.”

He glanced briefly at his daughter. “And while some of us may still disagree, this is the direction we’ve taken. I expect unity going forward. The students will already feel the pressure—we do not need to fracture here.”

A heavy pause.

Then slowly, the professors nodded—some with reluctant acceptance, others with quiet resolve.

The Headmaster looked over the hall once more. His next words were quieter, but they carried through the room like thunder.

“Let the scouts come. Let them see what we’ve built here. But make no mistake—this academy belongs to us. Not to the guilds. Not to the families. Not to the Federation.”

He turned toward the window, where the training grounds shimmered under the morning sun.

“We will hold the line. Even if the world shifts beneath our feet.”

The meeting adjourned moments later.

And outside, across the academy’s central yard, the wind carried whispers of movement—of new eyes arriving. Watching. Measuring.

*****

The heavy doors of the administrative conference hall closed behind Eleanor with a muted thud, sealing in the residue of tension, numbers, and looming political pressure. Her boots clicked steadily across the polished stone corridor, her pace brisk but controlled—precise, as always. The chilly morning light filtered through high arched windows, catching the edge of her coat in flashes of muted ivory and steel.

Her mind churned quietly as she walked.

Scouts arriving early…

It was expected. Inevitable, even. But that didn’t make it less aggravating. The balance of authority between academy and guilds had always been a knife-edge—held together by protocol, reputation, and a shared understanding that cadets weren’t tools to be bought early.

But now?

Now, those lines were being tested.

Her expression remained unreadable, but her thoughts were anything but calm.

I’ll manage it. The cadets don’t need to know how tightly we’re being squeezed. They need direction. Control. Focus.

Especially Ethan.

Especially Astron.

Just as she reached the edge of the corridor leading toward the upper courtyard stairwell, a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“Professor Eleanor.”

She stopped.

Turned her head slightly.

Amelia.

The vice-head’s heels clicked softly as she approached—elegant, poised, her expression wearing that trademark serene politeness. Not false. But not true, either.

“Amelia,” Eleanor greeted curtly, inclining her head by the smallest fraction. “I assume you wanted something more than a post-meeting pleasantry?”

Amelia smiled.

Soft. Warm. Harmless on the surface.

But Eleanor had known her long enough to hear the note beneath it. The way Amelia’s words always came with more polish than purpose. Smooth, practiced speech. A gentle tone. And beneath it, something else.

Slippery.

“No,” Amelia said, shaking her head lightly. “I just wanted to speak with you briefly. You’ve been handling the first-year mentorships personally this cycle, haven’t you?”

And it came once again.