Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 990 - 231.2 - Mid-terms

Julia slowed her steps slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the pair just behind. "What even is luck, anyway?"

Irina blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Come on," Julia said, waving a hand vaguely toward Astron. "He pulls answers out of thin air, survives sparring matches that should've knocked him flat, and nails the hardest exam questions like it's a casual walk through the woods—and then calls it 'luck.' So what is it?"

Irina just shrugged, her smirk returning. "Nothing."

Julia narrowed her eyes. "Come on. Say it."

Irina turned forward, casual and composed. "No."

"Say it."

"I said no."

"Tch," Julia scoffed, folding her arms again. "Coward."

"I call it wisdom," Irina replied smoothly.

Lucas glanced between them. "You two gonna duel again right here on the stairs or…?"

"Don't tempt her," Ethan said, eyeing Julia warily.

She shot him a quick grin. "Relax. I don't have the energy. Yet."

The group continued descending the courtyard steps, the day finally cooling with the approaching dusk. The sunlight stretched long across the stone, painting the walls in pale gold and sleepy orange.

"So," Lilia said, breaking the lull, "now that theoreticals are over… what's the plan for the rest of today?"

"Crying," Julia offered.

Lucas raised a hand. "I second that."

"Seriously," Lilia said, ignoring them. "Practical exams start tomorrow. Should we rest up? Or hit the training room for a final warm-up?"

Carl, ever steady, spoke up from the back. "Rest is valuable. Fatigue accumulates."

Irina nodded slightly. "He's right. We've been going hard since the second week started. Burnout's real."

Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. "I was thinking of hitting the training hall for a bit. Not too hard. Just enough to keep the rhythm."

"Of course you were," Julia muttered, nudging him. "Because you're physically incapable of stopping."

Astron spoke then—quiet, but audible. "I'll go with him."

Ethan glanced at him, surprised—but nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

The moment Astron's calm voice floated through the group, several pairs of eyes turned his way.

Julia narrowed hers. Lilia raised a brow. Even Lucas, who had been halfway through stretching dramatically, paused mid-motion and looked between the two of them.

"…Of course," Julia muttered under her breath. "Of course you'd go too."

Ethan scratched the back of his head, half-apologetic. "It's just to keep the edge. Not going all-out."

Astron said nothing else. He didn't need to.

The group exchanged a few more glances, but none of them voiced what they were really thinking.

Because this wasn't new.

This was typical.

Ethan and Astron were training maniacs in their own ways—one out of self-discipline and the ever-present need to grow stronger, and the other out of… something else. Something colder, deeper, and harder to define.

Irina didn't say a word. She looked at Astron for a long moment, reading him the way only she could. But there was no flare of disapproval in her expression. Only the faintest breath of understanding.

"He's just being himself," she thought.

"Alright," Lilia said with a small sigh, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "Just don't push yourselves too hard. Or worse—start sparring each other again and forget to stop."

"No promises," Ethan said with a faint grin.

Lucas laughed. "At this point, I wouldn't even be surprised if you two study by fighting each other."

"Oh…" Lucas was still grinning when Ethan suddenly tilted his head, genuinely intrigued.

"Wait." Ethan's eyebrows lifted. "That could actually work."

He looked toward Astron, something sparking in his eyes. "If we paired off and went through the theoretical topics while sparring—like, you know, pressure-based recall—we could condition our reflexes and our retention."

Lilia groaned. "No. Absolutely not. Stop."

Julia made a choking sound. "Ethan. No."

But Ethan had already turned to Astron, fully considering it now. "What do you think?"

Astron paused.

He didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked from Ethan to Lucas—and then slowly narrowed.

Just slightly.

Lucas raised both hands innocently. "Hey, I was joking."

Astron's expression didn't change much… but it did change. The faintest crease at the brow. A thin glint in his eyes.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't irritation.

It was… a look.

A look that said: This conversation is over.

And without a word, he turned.

His coat shifted softly as he stepped off the path and began walking toward the training hall with his usual deliberate calm, only the faint weight of his silence trailing behind him.

Ethan blinked, then gave the group a quick shrug. "I'll catch you later."

And he jogged after Astron, falling into stride beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"He really is too edgy…"

*****

The quiet steps of their boots echoed lightly off the stone as they left the courtyard behind, the sun dipping lower and casting long shadows along the garden path that wound toward Eleanor's private training grounds.

The air between them was calm.

Not heavy. Not tense.

Just the quiet kind of air that always followed Astron when he walked—like the world itself moved a little slower in his presence.

Ethan walked beside him, hands tucked loosely into his jacket pockets, eyes darting between the horizon and the ground in thought. He opened his mouth—only to pause as Astron turned to look at him.

"I know what you're going to say," Astron said, not even slowing his pace.

Ethan blinked, then let out a short laugh. "Right. Of course you do."

Astron tilted his head, voice even. "You want to spar. Again."

Ethan shrugged with a crooked smile. "Why not?"

"Waste of time," Astron replied without pause.

That made Ethan frown—not annoyed, just curious. "You really think so? I think it could benefit us a lot."

Astron's gaze slid forward again, his coat catching a soft breeze as they passed a line of trimmed hedges. "I already know how you fight."

"Yeah, but we've both changed since our last match," Ethan said, stepping over a small root and matching Astron's pace again. "Besides, I am quite curious. I remember, fighting you helps me think. You don't give anything away. It's like solving a moving equation."

Astron didn't answer immediately. His eyes narrowed just a little.

Not dismissively.

But thoughtfully.

"The way you fight," he said after a few seconds, "is based on instinct paired with accumulated patterns. Rhythm and variance. You disguise predictable flows in unpredictable speed. But your mana shaping still lags slightly behind your psionic reflexes."

Ethan blinked, digesting that. "...Thanks, I think?"

"I'm saying you're improving," Astron added, still watching the path ahead. "But you don't need me to sharpen what you already know."

Ethan grinned. "No. I need you to challenge what I don't know."

Astron finally glanced at him again, faintly surprised—but he didn't deny it.

Instead, his pace slowed just a fraction, and his tone shifted—barely. Less final. More considering.

"Pressure-based recall," Astron repeated, quoting Ethan from earlier. "You believe it works?"

"It did for my brother," Ethan said. "He drilled theory while sparring—tied technical recall to combat conditions. Said it helped cement battlefield instincts and analysis under real tension."

Astron was silent again, though this time, the silence felt more like calculation.

Then, at last—

"…We'll see."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "That a yes?"

Astron didn't answer right away.

His steps were steady, his gaze fixed ahead, and for a moment Ethan wasn't sure if he was being ignored or if Astron was genuinely weighing the offer like it was a mathematical proof.

Then—

"…After mid-terms."

Ethan let out an audible groan. "So that's a no."

"Deferred," Astron corrected, still not looking at him.

"You're so boring."

"Feel free to think whatever you want," came the flat reply.

Ethan rolled his eyes with a small sigh. "I do."

The conversation ended there—easily, naturally. Not with frustration, but with the kind of practiced rhythm they'd somehow fallen into. Trading quiet jabs between larger silences, not to dominate the conversation, but to navigate it.

Ahead, the reinforced glass-and-silver gate to Eleanor's facility shimmered into view, its edges glowing faintly with a detection barrier. As they approached, a glyph-ring pulsed outward, sensing their arrival.

Each of them raised a wrist in practiced motion, their ID bands flashing with a gentle blue light.

Access Granted.