Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

"Pens down. Now."

The command echoed through the massive lecture hall like the toll of a bell. The proctor's voice was clipped, deliberate, and utterly merciless.

Chairs creaked. Pens dropped. A few students froze mid-sentence, desperate to squeeze in just one more word—but none dared to defy the order.

The room, thick with tension and the faint stench of stress-induced sweat, fell into a brittle silence.

Students sat slumped over their desks like defeated soldiers after a siege. The last of the theoretical midterms—four grueling hours of multi-discipline nightmare fuel—was finally over.

A low groan broke the silence. "What the hell was that third section?"

No one responded immediately. Then, from the row behind, another voice muttered under their breath. "I swear half those questions weren't even real. They made those up just to watch us suffer."

"Shhh," came the immediate whisper from the side. "He's still collecting."

And sure enough, the proctor—a tall man with a face carved from granite and eyes that missed nothing—was already making his rounds, snapping his fingers and pointing at students who lingered too long near their answer sheets.

No one wanted to test him.

Not after three days of midterms.

Not on the final hour.

So the complaints died quickly, swallowed by the sound of shuffled papers and the slow scrape of chairs being pushed back.

Outside the tall windows, sunlight slanted across the courtyard, but no one looked up. They were all still processing what had just happened.

One student leaned back slowly in their chair, rubbing both hands over their face. "We did it," they murmured. "We survived. Barely."

Someone next to them let out a bitter laugh. "If surviving means mentally disintegrating over mana displacement calculations and battle logistics from a war fifty years ago, then sure. We survived."

"Don't remind me."

The proctor loomed once more. "Exit quietly. Hall is dismissed."

And just like that, it was over.

The last page. The last pen stroke. The final exam of the theoretical midterms.

The students rose with the slow, aching shuffle of people who had fought something far larger than themselves and lived to tell about it—but only barely.

On the outer steps of the main academic wing, where a group of weary cadets spilled out into the open air like prisoners finally released from a week-long sentence. The stone beneath their boots was warm, the sun casting golden light across the courtyard—but none of them looked particularly revived by it.

Julia was the first to break the groaning silence among the core group. She stormed out of the building with her coat slung over one shoulder, hair a little messier than usual, face scrunched in visible frustration.

"I am pissed off," she announced, voice raw with indignation. "Pissed. Do you know why?"

Nobody answered.

She didn't wait anyway.

"Because for once—once!—I actually studied." Her hands went up in the air. "I stayed up. I took notes. I highlighted things. Lilia saw me. You saw me!"

Lilia, walking calmly beside her, nodded. "She did. She even color-coded."

"I color-coded," Julia repeated, stabbing a finger into the air as if accusing the world itself. "And not a single topic I focused on showed up. Not one. No supply chain optimization. No arcane reinforcement algorithms. Nothing. Just… just mana stability equations from pre-modern adaptation theory? Who even uses that?"

Lucas let out a dry chuckle as he trailed behind them, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. "Sounds like you had a textbook-targeted betrayal."

"Don't mock me," Julia grumbled. "This is a betrayal of the highest order. My brain hurts in places I didn't know it could."

Ethan walked beside her in silence, hands in his pockets. His face was composed, but his eyes were slightly glazed—the same look of someone who had been trapped in a theoretical hellscape and was still trying to remember their name. "That third section," he murmured, "wasn't even worded like a real question."

"I know, right?" Julia snapped her fingers in his direction. "I wasn't even sure if it was a trap or if I was just losing my mind."

"Both," Lilia muttered. "It was both."

Carl, as always, walked quietly behind them, his hands clasped behind his back, posture straight despite the storm of complaints around him. He didn't groan, didn't curse, didn't vent. But his silence carried weight, the kind that said he'd also suffered, even if he wasn't vocal about it.

Lucas raised a brow toward him. "Carl, you alive back there?"

Carl tilted his head slightly at the question, his expression as neutral as ever.

"Why would I not be?" he replied, voice calm and as steady as his footsteps.

Lucas grinned. "Just checking, man. You've got that 'contemplating the fragility of life' silence going."

Carl glanced forward. "The exam was fine."

Lucas raised a skeptical brow. "Fine? That's it?"

"I'm not much of a theory guy," Carl admitted with a shrug. "But I always put in decent effort. It's not about being good—it's about being consistent."

"Huh." Lucas nodded thoughtfully. "Respect."

Ethan, who had been walking quietly beside Julia, gave a small chuckle. "Same here. I don't care too much about the theory side. I just try to pass without losing my mind."

He exhaled, gaze drifting up to the clear sky. "It is what it is."

"It is what it is," Lucas echoed at the exact same time.

They both paused, blinked—

Then burst into a shared laugh.

Julia gave them both a long, tired stare. "You two have officially synced brain cells."

Ethan smirked. "That might actually be the most productive thing I've done all day."

Lucas gave him a fist bump without breaking stride.

Julia sighed loudly, dragging a hand through her hair. "Fuck… I really don't want to care."

She looked skyward, as if appealing to the gods.

"But I'm pissed."

The group began to descend the steps, their tired complaints trailing behind them like echoes of war stories, when the door behind them opened again with a soft click.

Two more students stepped out.

One walked with an easy, confident pace—the subtle swagger of someone who was more annoyed than tired. Her hoodie was tied around her waist, and her long hair shimmered gold in the fading light as she huffed dramatically.

The other moved more quietly, not silent, but less noticed. His steps were calm, composed, deliberate. His presence wasn't loud—it was the kind that passed through crowds like mist, unnoticed until you looked twice.

Astron and Irina.

They were speaking in low voices, not joining the others just yet. Irina had her arms crossed, her expression somewhere between impressed and mildly irritated.

"I still don't get it," she muttered, her tone half-accusation, half-exhaustion. "How did you really manage to predict it that well?"

Astron tilted his head slightly, his gaze still distant as he looked ahead. "I just guessed. Got lucky."

Irina narrowed her eyes at him. "Suspicious."

"I really was lucky this time," he said again, his voice as neutral as ever.

Irina scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Humph."

Their pace slowed as they joined the back of the group, just close enough to hear the tail end of Julia's long-winded venting.

"...But I'm pissed," Julia said, still half-shouting at the sky like it had personally betrayed her.

Irina gave her a sideways glance and smirked. "You're always pissed after exams."

Julia looked back at her. "Yeah, but this time it's personal."

Irina just chuckled under her breath, then turned back toward Astron with a mutter.

"Lucky, my ass…" she grumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

Astron didn't reply.

But his silence might as well have been another shrug.