Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

"What?"

The word wasn't shouted, nor sharp—it was laced with irritation, yes, but also restraint. Julia's voice cut through the silence like a blade across silk—clean, deliberate. Her arms remained crossed, but her gaze never wavered.

She glared at Victor—not with challenge, not with flirtation, but with expectation.

Because she knew him.

Far better than most in the room.

They all did, in truth. Julia, Lucas, Ethan… even Irina and Carl to an extent. Long before Arcadia Hunter Academy had drawn them into this new war-forged mold, they had crossed paths in pre-academy schools. Institutions meant to raise prodigies. To filter the exceptional from the promising.

And Victor?

Victor Blackthorn had always been exceptional.

Untouchably so.

He hadn't needed to speak much then either. He simply was. Brilliant, disciplined, devastating in battle. But even in those early days—amid duels and drills, lectures and assessments—there had been one exception to his stoic detachment.

Julia.

It hadn't been loud. It hadn't been confessed. But it had been obvious—to those who knew how to look.

The way Victor used to turn his head whenever Julia entered a room, just a moment longer than necessary.

The quiet shifts in his stance when she spoke—how he'd subtly align himself in her direction.

The way he used to offer her his hand first when instructors demanded paired exercises, even when it made less tactical sense.

The way he never corrected her… when he corrected everyone else.

For someone as composed and indifferent as Victor, the subtlety was the confession.

But then came the last year. The withdrawal. The long silences. The way he all but disappeared from the academy under special training orders—his presence reduced to a ghost.

And with that, the signals had stopped.

Or so Julia had assumed.

Now, here he stood. His aura returned. His strength unbound. And yet his gaze?

Still on her.

Still searching.

Victor didn't answer right away.

He didn't smile. He didn't speak.

He simply regarded her—those green eyes unblinking, that calm carved-in-marble expression betraying little. But to Julia, who'd known him longer than most… there was a flicker there.

Victor opened his mouth, the movement subtle—like everything he did—but decisive. The pause ended, and at last, his voice cut through the space between them. Low. Clear. Strangely… careful.

"…You've gotten better."

Julia's eyes narrowed slightly. "Better?"

Victor gave a slight nod. "Yes."

It wasn't a compliment dressed in flowery language. It was matter-of-fact, unadorned. Like everything else about him, there was no effort to soften or embellish. Just the truth, as he saw it.

He shifted slightly, posture still refined, hands loosely at his sides. "I watched your swordsmanship."

Julia raised an eyebrow, her arms still folded. "You watched?"

"During the duel," he clarified, as if the distinction mattered. "The way you layered illusion into footwork. The rhythm distortion. It's sharper than before. Less instinct, more design."

Julia held his gaze for a moment longer, then tilted her head and gave a small, sideways smirk. "Of course it is."

A flicker of amusement—so faint it might've been imagined—crossed Victor's features. He looked at her for another second, longer than necessary again, before his eyes slowly slid past her—

—to Astron.

And when they landed on him, the shift was undeniable.

The coldness sharpened.

His calm never broke, but the air around him grew taut, as if invisible strings had pulled just a little tighter.

Astron didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

He simply looked back.

Violet eyes meeting gold.

One indifferent.

One unreadable.

Victor's voice returned—quieter now, but with weight behind it.

"You…"

He didn't finish right away.

Just that single word, laced with something difficult to parse. Not hatred. Not anger. But something carved deep beneath the surface—curiosity, perhaps. Wariness. Dislike, maybe.

Or something else entirely.

Astron said nothing. Didn't blink. He simply waited. Watching. Reading.

Victor continued.

"You're not what I expected."

It wasn't praise. Nor was it contempt. It was a statement, just like before—factual, precise. But this time, the atmosphere around them bent slightly, like heat rising between two blades drawn but not yet swung.

Irina's gaze flicked between them, tension prickling at the edge of her senses. Lilia frowned faintly. Lucas and Ethan exchanged a quiet glance.

Julia… didn't look away.

Her eyes were still on Victor.

Julia's lips curved—not into her usual smirk, but something smaller, sharper. A glint of anticipation flickered in her eyes.

Now this was getting interesting.

She didn't interrupt. Didn't step between them.

She wanted to see where it would go.

Astron, still unblinking, tilted his head a fraction. His voice came calmly, devoid of heat or pride.

"What was it you expected?"

Victor didn't answer right away.

He studied Astron with the kind of gaze that measured weight, not worth. That examined lineage, posture, the shape of a name.

Then, at last, he spoke—each word precise, carved, like glass set into a polished frame.

"I expected what you are," Victor said coolly. "An orphan. A common-born psion, scavenged from nowhere. Untrained. Unmannered. Lacking discipline. Lacking class."

His words weren't raised, nor loud—but they landed like lead dropped into still water.

"I saw your file," he continued, eyes narrowing. "No affiliations. No family. No house. Just a name someone had to assign you for recordkeeping. And yet here you are—rubbing shoulders with nobles, trying to keep pace in a world that wasn't meant for you."

Lilia stiffened.

Irina's golden gaze sharpened instantly.

Lucas let out a low whistle. "Okay, and there it is."

Victor's attention didn't waver. "You should have stayed in the background. That's where people like you survive. Where people like you belong."

Still, Astron didn't flinch.

Didn't look away.

His hands remained by his sides, relaxed.

His voice, when it came, was steady. Dry.

"You seem invested for someone who thinks I don't belong."

Victor's golden eyes narrowed further, a glint of ice sharpening behind them.

"I'm not invested," he said coldly. "Just stating the truth."

His gaze didn't waver from Astron—until it slid sharply toward Irina.

"And you…" he said, his voice tinged now with something colder, heavier, "…should know better."

Irina's brow twitched. Her stance shifted, shoulders tightening.

"He doesn't deserve to be beside you."

The words hung like knives in the air.

That was the moment Irina's patience ended.

Her golden eyes blazed, and her mana flared—subtle at first, then in a sharp wave of heat and pressure, the temperature around her spiking with controlled aggression. Flames licked along her fingers, not wild, but precise—leashed power poised for retaliation.

"I've had enough of your bullshit, Victor."

She stepped forward.

But just as the heat spiked—

A hand rose.

Astron's.

"Eh?" Irina blinked, halting mid-step, surprised not by the gesture, but by the calm behind it.

Astron simply shrugged. "Is that all?"

Silence followed.

Even Victor hesitated for a beat.

Astron's voice came again, steady as ever, gaze fixed right into Victor's. "All this weight. All this presence. And that's all you have to say?"

Victor stared at him. No movement. No flicker of emotion. But something cold stirred beneath the surface of his gaze.

Then, flatly: "It's best if you remember your place."

Astron blinked slowly. "I remember my place very well."

His voice didn't rise. It didn't shift. But there was something anchored in those words.

"That's the one thing I will never forget."

"…Is that so?"

Then Victor moved.

In an instant.

No telegraph.

No flare of mana.

Just motion.

One moment, he stood a few paces away. The next—

He was there.

Right in front of Astron.

So fast that even Irina's reflexes didn't catch it.

So sudden that Lilia flinched, half-reaching for her bow without realizing.

Ethan's fingers twitched near his side, and Lucas took a sharp step forward on instinct alone.

But Astron?

He didn't move.

Not even a flicker.

His posture didn't change.

His hands didn't rise.

His eyes didn't blink.

He simply stood there, head slightly tilted up to meet Victor's full gaze—unshaken.

The air between them was still.

Tense.

Electric.

Victor stared into him, silent. Evaluating. Prying.

Astron met his gaze with calm, unnerving clarity.

"...Tch."

Victor clicked his tongue.

His words came quiet, but cutting.

"You do not belong to Order."

Then, just as fast—

He stepped back.

The moment broke like glass under tension.

Victor turned, his coat sweeping behind him, and walked away without another word.

But the air still buzzed in his wake.

And in the middle of it all, Astron stood still—unbroken, quiet, and utterly unchanged.