Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 1000 - 234.2 - After

The heavy doors sealed with a resonant hum, layering a half-dozen suppression wards over the chamber.

Inside, the lights dimmed automatically, and a large circular table lit up with the glow of rune-cast holographic projections. One by one, figures flickered into existence—translucent but sharp, each surrounded by a corona of arcane identification glyphs.

Headmaster Jonathan adjusted the cuffs of his coat, his every movement deliberate, controlled. He took his seat at the single empty chair—the last to arrive—and the meeting began immediately.

Overseer Ryhal's projection hovered at the head of the array, his sharp gaze sweeping the gathered figures: representatives from the Hunter Association, strategic divisions from the Federation Defense Ministry, and a handful of guild envoys observing in silent participation.

"Headmaster Jonathan," Ryhal began, his voice clipped, precise, cutting through the stale air. "We will proceed without delay. You have received the preliminary briefing?"

Jonathan nodded once, his face carved from stone. "I have."

"Then you understand the situation."

The projections around the table shifted. Images of gates spun into view—dark swirling thresholds layered with alien sigils. Each gate pulsed faintly with life, radiating a subtle but unmistakable message: not for you.

Ryhal spoke with the detached finality of a man delivering a battlefield report. "The youth-restriction phenomenon has been confirmed. Globally. No hunter over the age of twenty-one has been able to enter the new gate types. The pattern is absolute."

He let that settle before continuing.

"The Association has finalized its response. Effective immediately, all primary hunter academies, including your institution, will be requisitioned to support gate operations. We expect coordinated rotations of cadets into active low-risk dungeons for exposure and integration."

Jonathan's hands steepled under his chin. He didn't interrupt. Yet.

Ryhal continued, as if reading from an immutable decree. "This initiative will be staged. Initial deployments will be observational. Limited objectives. Controlled supervision. It is our position that such measures will not only benefit Federation security, but the cadets themselves. It will accelerate their development. Prepare them for the reality they will inevitably face."

Finally, Jonathan spoke, his voice low and even.

"Exposure?" His tone was quiet—but the underlying contempt was razor sharp. "You intend to throw my students into the flames under the guise of preparation."

A ripple of discomfort traveled through a few of the minor envoys, but Ryhal remained unshaken.

"This is not a request, Headmaster. The Federation has ratified the Emergency Talent Mobilization Act. You've seen the clauses yourself. If the gates continue to appear—and all projections suggest they will—we have no choice but to begin integrating younger operatives immediately."

Jonathan's gaze darkened. His voice was a slow, lethal current.

"The academy exists to prepare them. Not to sacrifice them before they're ready. Not to serve as a conscription pipeline for those too cowardly to hold the line themselves."

One of the Defense Ministry representatives, a woman with silver-streaked hair, interjected smoothly.

"We are not proposing reckless deployment. These cadets will be monitored. Evaluated. They will be sent into appropriate environments for their capabilities."

Jonathan's lips curled into something that wasn't a smile.

"Appropriate. And when the next Rank-6 gate appears in a civilian sector? When the 'appropriate environment' becomes an inferno? Will you still call it exposure?"

The room cooled palpably. Even through holographic projection, the force of Jonathan's will pressed against them all.

Ryhal leaned slightly forward, his expression unchanged.

"We understand your concerns. But the numbers don't lie, Headmaster. We have no reserves. We have no second option."

A new projection rotated into view—manifolds of cadet rosters, talent scores, compatibility indexes. A staggering array of red-coded alerts flashed over the maps of the Federation.

"The world is shifting, Jonathan. You know this better than most. If the old pillars no longer support us, then we must forge new ones."

Jonathan's jaw flexed once, tightly.

He could feel it—like the slow tightening of a noose.

The government, the Association, the guilds—each thread pulling taut, drawing the academy closer to the breaking point.

He could refuse, of course.

He could call it what it was: political exploitation hidden under the veneer of necessity.

Jonathan's gaze remained locked onto the swirling projections, the red-coded alerts flashing across the Federation map like warning beacons.

He knew what was happening.

He saw the trap laid before him.

If he refused now—if he resisted too openly—the Association would not confront him directly.

No.

They would leak the situation to the public.

Frame it as a dereliction of duty.

An elite academy refusing to rise to the call while the world teetered.

Parents would demand answers.

Families would panic.

The Federation would tighten its grip.

And the academy—his academy—would fracture from within.

Jonathan's hands curled into slow, deliberate fists on the armrests of his chair, his expression unreadable behind the cold gleam of the holograms.

He had spent decades preparing hunters.

Every cadet who walked these halls knew, consciously or not, that they would one day put their lives on the line.

That was the truth of the path they had chosen.

But this?

This was not preparation.

This was forced acceleration under duress, risking untempered youth for short-term survival.

And Jonathan—no matter what pressure they brought—would not let it happen so easily.

Not yet.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice composed but cutting through the room like the cold snap of a blade.

"There is no need for hasty judgment," Jonathan said, his words measured, deliberate. "Panic does not forge strong foundations. It crumbles them."

A few holographic figures shifted slightly, sensing the weight of his stance.

Jonathan continued, tone cool, almost conversational.

"You say the gates are spreading. That the youth are now our frontline."

He tapped one finger lightly against the table, the sound unnaturally loud in the layered silence.

"But despite your urgency, the Association has been… selective with its information."

The projections shifted at his subtle command, highlighting only a dozen active youth-locked gates across the Federation's territory.

"Twelve gates. Across an entire continental domain." Jonathan's voice sharpened slightly. "Concerning? Yes. Catastrophic? Not yet."

He let that hang in the air for a long moment.

Calculating.

Pressing the initiative back into his hands.

"This academy will continue its preparation protocols. It will continue to raise hunters who can answer the Federation's call." His gaze turned flinty. "But I will not treat rumors and early symptoms as justification to throw untempered blades into a meat grinder."

A few of the minor representatives shifted uncomfortably. Even Ryhal, still outwardly composed, tilted his head slightly—acknowledging, if only in the subtlest way, that the Headmaster had seen through the bluff.

Jonathan pressed further, turning the knife.

"And surely," he said, voice now carrying the faintest hint of mockery, "the generous budget reallocations from the Academy's funding cuts were not simply to line ledgers."

The words struck harder than a shout.

Jonathan's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You've stripped resources from our training, from our defenses, and poured them—presumably—into Association coffers. Surely then, those resources can be used to better equip the current youth hunters already on duty."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Better weapons. Better armor. Portable mana dampeners. Life-saving artifacts. Tools that can actually make a difference in field survivability, rather than panicking to drag more unready cadets into your failing frontline."

The silence was suffocating.

One of the Defense Ministry envoys opened their mouth, as if to object, but Ryhal simply raised a hand, silencing the room with a flick of his fingers.

Jonathan did not move from his seat.

Did not raise his voice.

He didn't have to.

He had seized the tempo of the conversation and forced them to play defense.

Finally, Ryhal inclined his head ever so slightly, his tone carefully neutral.

"Your position is understood, Headmaster."

Jonathan gave a curt nod.

"I will maintain readiness."

Another pause.

"But the cadets are not soldiers. Not yet."

His eyes gleamed cold beneath the holographic lights.

"And I will not offer them up like lambs because others failed to plan for the future."

One by one, the projections began to blink out, leaving only dim afterimages swirling in the darkened chamber.

Jonathan sat alone for a long moment after the connection severed, the weight of command settling once more onto his shoulders.

He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts.

Delay them. Stall them. Protect the academy for as long as possible.

Because when the time finally came—

When the gates grew too numerous, and the Federation demanded more than just volunteers—

He knew it wouldn't be politics or negotiation that decided the academy's fate.

It would be war.

And the academy would either stand as a bastion—

Or it would burn as the first casualty.

Jonathan rose from his chair, his long coat brushing the floor as he moved to the window.

Outside, cadets were already training—dueling, studying, laughing.

Still innocent. Still unaware of the tides gathering beyond the horizon.

His fists clenched behind his back.

Not yet.