Chapter 986 - Exam prep
Under the soft veil of the approaching evening, the academy grounds carried a stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant footsteps of passing students. The air was cool now, the warmth of the afternoon sun long faded, replaced by a gentle wind that carried the scent of grass and distant mana traces from the dueling halls.
Beneath one of the tall trees lining the outer courtyard, a girl stood—half in shadow, half bathed in the silver glow of the lanterns that lined the path.
She wore casual clothes this time, a light charcoal hoodie left unzipped over a fitted maroon tank top, the fabric hugging her form just enough to suggest ease without effort. Her black joggers sat low on her hips, tucked into combat boots that looked like they'd seen both training and style. Around her neck was a faint shimmer of a charm—small, reddish-gold, and old. Her long hair—fiery gold at the tips, deeper at the roots—was tied into a high, slightly messy tail that swayed with the breeze, and a few strands had slipped loose, framing her face with deliberate chaos.
Golden eyes glanced toward the path again, narrowed slightly, then rolled upward in clear annoyance.
"He is late," she mumbled, crossing her arms beneath her chest.
He wasn't. Not really.
But that didn't stop her from saying it.
She shifted her weight onto one foot, letting her boot nudge a fallen leaf aside as she stared up at the canopy above. The branches swayed gently, the moonlight filtering between them in broken fragments, dancing over her skin.
All around her, the academy pulsed with low, controlled tension. Students passed by in small groups or alone, their steps quicker than usual, their conversations clipped and focused. No casual laughter, no lingering at the corners of the walkways—just muted chatter and the rustling of pages being skimmed on glowing tablets or folded papers.
Irina's sharp ears picked up bits and pieces.
"—Professor Lorne's adding spell formation matrices again. He never does that during mid-terms."
"Someone said last year's fourth-year exam was used for the second years this time. What the hell does that mean for us?"
"…and with all this tension in the academy, who knows what the faculty will do to weed people out?"
Irina tilted her head slightly, catching more voices on the wind. The atmosphere was changing.
The exams were next week.
And it wasn't just the usual panic of unprepared students. It was deeper than that—rooted in uncertainty, in the shifting politics and unease that had been threading itself through the academy's routines for weeks.
This year, the mid-terms weren't just going to be hard.
They were going to be a test of control.
A filtering of potential threats.
She could sense it—some students were expecting the curriculum to be rewritten last minute. Others feared their results would be used to determine something beyond just rankings. Even now, conspiracy theories were bubbling beneath the surface—quiet but persistent.
She sighed. Not that she was worried about herself. But tension like this had a way of building pressure around everything, making people act rashly. Especially when the academy itself already felt like it was holding its breath.
And then—
A subtle pulse.
A shift in the air, faint, almost unnoticeable.
But she felt it.
A presence brushing past the edge of her senses, moving through the crowd with a pace too smooth, too deliberate, to be anyone but him.
She didn't even turn yet. Just waited, lips curving ever so slightly.
And a moment later, he stepped into the moonlight.
Dressed in dark casual wear—simple, clean lines, a fitted long-sleeve with muted silver trim at the cuffs, black slacks, boots silent on the stone path. His silver hair caught the light just so, and his purple eyes met hers with that same unreadable calm he always wore.
Astron.
Exactly on time.
Of course.
She smirked to herself, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as he approached.
"Tch," she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear. "Still so annoyingly punctual."
She watched as he came closer, his steps unhurried, measured—like the world moved at a pace that only he dictated. His expression was the same as always: calm, unreadable, like nothing around him had the power to pull a visible reaction from his features unless he allowed it.
It was almost maddening.
Almost.
When he was close enough, she tilted her head, eyeing him with deliberate scrutiny.
"What is annoying about being punctual?" he asked without breaking stride, voice low and even.
Irina rolled her eyes, arms folding beneath her chest. "It makes me feel like you're a robot."
Astron paused in front of her, gaze leveling with hers. "I'm not a robot."
"You look like one," she replied immediately, smirking just slightly. "Like a very well-programmed, mana-efficient machine. Probably made by some recluse alchemist who hates emotional expression."
There was a flicker in his eyes. Barely perceptible.
And then—
"It must be your eyes that are the problem," he said.
Irina blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Faulty lenses," he added after a beat, as if that clarified anything. "What you perceive is not what is real."
She stared at him for a second, lips parting slightly.
"…Was that supposed to be philosophical?"
Astron tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely considering. "Accidental."
Irina shook her head, a short laugh escaping her lips. "Only you could sound like a cryptic book of ancient wisdom and a malfunctioning mannequin in the same sentence."
Astron said nothing, simply turning his gaze to the moonlit path ahead—like he hadn't just casually said something that sounded like it belonged in a proverb.
Irina sighed, falling into step beside him.
"And they call me the dramatic one," she muttered.
"I don't," Astron said.
She smirked, glancing sideways. "Yet."
He didn't answer. But she caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
As they walked beneath the quiet sway of tree branches and lantern light, Irina glanced at him sideways again, her hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie.
"So?" she asked casually, voice light but curious. "How was your training just now?"
Astron didn't look at her, eyes still trained ahead, but he answered readily. "Eleanor is finally showing what makes her one of the best."
Irina's brows rose slightly. "The Invoker?"
"…Yes."
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing with interest. "So she's started teaching you about psions?"
"Yes," Astron replied, his tone calm but not without weight. "It seems we've moved past the threshold she was waiting for."
Irina let out a low whistle. "You're quite lucky, you know. To learn from her directly?" She clicked her tongue. "Not many students ever get that far."
"I can't deny that," he said simply.
Irina smirked. There was no envy in her voice—only a flicker of admiration and a quiet challenge. "Heh… Let's hope that fancy psion training doesn't make you forget how to dodge fire."
Astron glanced at her, unbothered. "I wouldn't make such a mistake."
"Good," Irina said, giving him a small nudge with her shoulder. "Because you'll need that focus tonight."
"...You make it sound rather…."
"Embarrassed?"
"Don't push yourself."
Astron shot her a look—sharp, quiet, the kind that held a warning without needing a single word to accompany it.
Irina giggled, not even bothering to hide it. That expression of his—half annoyed, half resigned—was far too rare, and it never failed to amuse her.
"Alright, alright," she said, raising her hands in mock surrender. "I'll behave."
He said nothing, but the flicker in his gaze lingered a second longer before he looked away.
Irina stepped ahead, casually tugging at his sleeve as she started walking. "Come on. Let's go before certain people gossips about the dorms…."
Astron fell into step beside her without a word, his pace steady, unhurried.
The path back was quiet, the soft murmur of distant conversations and the rustle of wind in the trees their only companions. But it wasn't silence born of awkwardness—it was a stillness they both understood.
Tonight, there would be no sparring. No combat drills or political maneuvering.
Just the soft glow of study lamps, notebooks spread across the table, and the low hum of mid-term tension hanging in the air.
It was what they had planned.
And for now—
That was enough.
Chapter 987 - Exam Prep (2)
The soft click of the door echoed as Irina pushed it open, stepping into the cool stillness of her dorm. The lights overhead were set to a low, warm hue—calming, but bright enough to work by. Outside the windows, the faint glow of the academy's tower lanterns shimmered through the glass, casting long shadows across the polished floors.
It was quiet.
Not just in her room—but throughout the hall.
The Top 10 dorms were always more subdued than the rest of the student housing, but this week, with mid-terms fast approaching, it felt like the entire building was holding its breath. Even the usual ambient noise—footsteps in the hallway, muted conversation, the occasional laughter—had vanished, replaced by silence and focus.
Irina didn't mind it.
She stepped aside to let Astron in, and he entered without a word, immediately removing his coat and setting it neatly over the back of a chair. He moved through the space with a quiet familiarity, as though this weren't the first time—and it wasn't.
Irina kicked her boots off, stretching slightly as she turned toward the kitchenette at the side of the room. "Make yourself comfortable," she said over her shoulder, already moving toward the small counter. "I got things ready this time."
Astron raised an eyebrow as he watched her rummage through the kitchenette, the faintest shift in his usually neutral expression betraying something that looked suspiciously like a challenge.
Irina caught it immediately.
She narrowed her eyes and turned her head, already shooting him a pointed look. "What?"
"Nothing," he replied smoothly, his tone just a little too casual.
Irina's eyes narrowed further. "You just thought of something rude."
"That depends," Astron said, glancing away as he unfastened his gloves with deliberate calm, "on what you consider rude."
She didn't answer that. She just stared—long and flat—until he finally gave in with a sigh and started walking toward the table.
"Go and sit," she muttered.
"Yes, yes," he replied mildly, as if indulging her.
Irina rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a grin as she turned back to the counter. A minute later, she carried over a tray loaded with everything she'd prepped: a pair of ceramic mugs, neatly stacked books and study sheets, and a plate of carefully arranged snacks—small pastries, spiced nuts, and a couple of finger sandwiches.
Astron looked down at it all with his usual unreadable expression, though she caught the slight raise of his brow again.
Irina dropped onto the cushion opposite him and set the tray between them. "Before you ask," she said, grabbing her mug, "yes. I made them."
Astron didn't immediately touch the food. Instead, he glanced over the arrangement once more—his eyes flicking from the perfectly-aligned pastries to the slightly uneven cut on one of the sandwiches, the way a few crumbs had been carefully brushed aside but not entirely hidden.
"I already knew you made them," he said, his tone even.
Irina raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Oh?"
"You're not usually this deliberate with presentation," Astron continued. "The plating is tidy, but not natural. It's trying to follow a predetermined structure—one that doesn't come from repetition, but reference."
He picked up one of the sandwiches, rotating it slightly between his fingers. "You followed a video. Probably watched it twice. Tried to mimic what you saw—down to the angle of the tea cups."
Irina stared at him for a second, lips parted, then scoffed and looked away, brushing a hand through her bangs to hide the faint blush creeping into her cheeks.
"…So what?" she muttered, pretending to focus on her tea.
Astron didn't press, just sipped from his mug.
Irina threw him a sidelong glance. "I just didn't expect you to notice that much detail."
"Why?" he asked.
"Why, you ask?" She leaned back, arms crossed. "Because you're supposed to be the kind of guy who just eats food without thinking about where it came from."
Astron blinked. "That doesn't sound like me."
Irina snorted. "No, it doesn't." She looked at him again, this time with a smirk. "Heh… You know, I'm not some sort of sheltered princess who can't cook."
Astron paused, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly—not with judgment, just quiet skepticism.
"I'm not," she insisted, her expression tightening with playful offense.
"Yes, yes…" Astron said calmly, sipping again.
Irina gave him a flat look. "Don't patronize me."
"I wouldn't dare."
"Liar."
He said nothing, but the faint twitch of his lips gave him away.
And Irina, flustered and smug all at once, just kept drinking her tea.
The conversation tapered off into a comfortable quiet, both of them nursing their tea as the warm lamplight cast soft shadows over the textbooks and papers neatly arranged between them. The tray of snacks sat untouched for now, a small testament to the rare calm before the inevitable descent into focused silence.
Irina exhaled, setting her cup aside with a gentle clink and scooting closer to the table. "Alright, let's get to work," she said, flicking open one of the thinner review booklets. "We didn't come here just to debate my culinary skills."
Astron adjusted his posture and reached for the nearest binder without protest. He never really did. When Irina initiated something with intention, he followed. That was part of the strange rhythm they had developed over the past month—subtle, fluid, unspoken.
But this time, Irina had her own reasons.
She was the one who had proposed it.
The mid-terms were closing in, and while Astron never seemed the type to worry about his grades, Irina did. Not just her own, but his too—at least when it came to how things looked from the outside.
Because, if people were to learn that Astron—quiet, aloof, unapproachable Astron—had spent the week studying with Irina Emberheart, it would give them all a neat, clean reason to explain away the inevitable rise in his academic performance.
Especially now that rankings were becoming more than just numbers. Especially now that families and factions were beginning to pay real attention to what went on in the academy walls.
She had even considered dragging him to the main library for visibility's sake. After all, a study session under the public eye would've stirred the right whispers.
But when she went to check earlier, after her mentorship, she found the main floor already packed. Students were crammed into every available chair and bench, the air heavy with mana notes and whispered strategy theories.
So she pivoted.
Private session it was.
Still effective, still intimate—and maybe, just maybe, a little more convenient for her own reasons.
After all, it was a win-win.
Astron's reputation got the perfect academic cover, her image as a top ten strategist remained polished, and—
Well, she also got to spend a few quiet hours alone with him.
And if that wasn't productive in multiple ways, she didn't know what was.
Irina leaned forward, pen in hand, golden eyes flicking over the problem set in front of her.
[Mana Theory II]
The bane of most second-year cadets.
In the previous semester, they had slogged through Mana Theory I, which covered the fundamentals—basic mana flow, channeling stability, elemental interaction charts, and introductory circuit structuring. Most of it had been dense but manageable, and Astron, of course, had cruised through it with an almost unfair sense of clarity.
But Mana Theory II was different.
Now they were diving into the more volatile terrain: internal resonance harmonics, caster-loop feedback structures, mana rejection thresholds, and the ever-feared Phase Shift Phenomena, which required a maddening combination of theoretical knowledge and raw imagination to even conceptualize.
"Now, let's start."
Irina tapped her pen against the desk lightly, reading over the current problem.
"A third-tier caster activates a dual-element resonance cycle within a limited-containment zone….."
Chapter 988 - Exam Prep (3)
"A third-tier caster activates a dual-element resonance cycle within a limited-containment zone. The first-phase elemental burst triggers a reverse-polarity response. Explain why the rejection spike does not destabilize the outer channel seal."
She clicked her tongue.
"Alright," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "We're dealing with containment logic now. Phase interactions, dual-elemental systems..."
Astron, sitting across from her with his usual unreadable calm, glanced at the problem sheet. "The spike is offset by the caster's pre-loop binding before the second phase begins. The rejection doesn't destabilize the seal because it's absorbed into the oscillation buffer during the harmonics delay window."
Irina raised an eyebrow. "You memorized this already?"
Astron shrugged lightly, flipping the page with his usual composure. "This question's structure is nearly identical to the one Instructor Bellis solved on the board two weeks ago. The elemental inversion model was part of the class demonstration." He paused briefly. "It's fairly easy."
Irina smirked, leaning back a little. "Indeed it is. Almost disappointingly so."
Astron didn't respond, but his eyes flicked down to the next section of the review sheet. "Which is why it won't be on the exam," he added simply. "Not this time. Not with all the rumors going around."
Irina's eyes narrowed slightly. "You think they're true? The ones about the exam being modified again?"
"I do," Astron said. "There's too much unrest lately. Someone will want to establish control again. Academic filters are the cleanest way to do it."
Irina hummed in agreement, tapping the edge of her pen against her notebook. Her gaze drifted slightly, thoughtful, and then—
"Heh," she said suddenly, a sly grin tugging at her lips. "I thought of something fun just now."
Astron didn't look up. "What?"
She leaned in a little, eyes glinting. "Let's have a competition."
Astron blinked. "What competition?"
Irina straightened, lifting her pen like it was a sword about to be drawn. "Trying to predict the exam questions."
There was a short pause.
Astron looked at her with the faintest trace of skepticism, as if deciding whether or not to humor the challenge. "That is not how studying works."
"Maybe not for you," Irina said smugly. "But if I'm going to suffer through this, I might as well make it interesting."
Astron glanced at the problem set again, then back at her. "And what would the winner receive?"
Irina grinned. "Bragging rights. And maybe…" She let the word hang for a second. "A favor."
Astron raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Irina leaned back, crossing her arms. "Well? Afraid I'll win?"
"No," he said flatly. "I just think it's a low-return gamble."
She grinned wider. "That means you're in."
Astron sighed, turning to the next page. "Fine."
And just like that, the study session shifted.
Now it was a game.
A quiet battle of minds in the warm, lamplit room—predicting which part of the academy's twisted curriculum would be weaponized next.
******
Irina let out a long, dramatic sigh as she leaned back, tilting her head until it rested against the edge of the cushion behind her.
"Finally it's over…"
Her arms stretched above her head as she sprawled out across the floor mat, the slow creak of her joints echoing slightly in the quiet of the dorm. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, letting her limbs loosen, her entire posture shifting from tension to exhaustion.
"Ugh… my brain is officially fried," she muttered.
Across from her, Astron quietly lowered his pen.
The sound was subtle—just a soft tap as it came to rest atop a stack of notes now half-filled with annotations, diagrams, and mana circuit sketches. He sat still for a second, eyes scanning the last equation before finally closing the booklet in front of him.
They had gone through dozens of questions—technical, theoretical, layered with trap wording and subtle exceptions. It hadn't just been a review. It had been a full dissection of the curriculum.
And it showed.
Irina turned her head slightly to look at him. "I'd never thought about that last one like that," she admitted, nodding toward the last solved question about circuit pressure diffusion during simultaneous multi-cast. "Using the auxiliary loop as the anchor point instead of just a redundancy? That flipped the whole structure."
Astron's gaze didn't lift from the closed booklet. "Sometimes approaching it as a designer is harder to do."
Irina blinked. "Designer?"
He nodded. "You've trained yourself to think like a user. A caster. You interpret the structure as something to execute. But if you study the way it is built—" Astron started, but Irina cut in with a spark of realization lighting in her eyes.
"So like a magic engineer?"
"Yes," he said, giving a single nod. "Exactly that."
Irina leaned her head back again, letting the thought settle in her mind. "I see. That makes sense. I always knew there was a reason those weirdos could optimize circuits better than the actual casters."
Astron didn't deny it. But then, after a beat, he added, "Still… I picked up a few new things today. There were approaches in your problem-solving I hadn't considered."
Irina's head whipped toward him, smirking as if she'd just received a rare award. "Of course there were. I am the best mage in this academy, after all."
Astron blinked, entirely unamused. "You're not the best at being humble."
Irina stretched again with exaggerated ease. "That's not my forte. And you knew it from the start."
A pause. Then, quietly, "...Can't refute that."
She grinned. "Heh."
For a few seconds, they simply basked in the quiet. The dorm felt warmer now—not from temperature, but from the long hours shared, the comfortable silence earned after focus, effort, and a little well-placed bragging.
Then Irina's eyes flicked to the side—toward the corner of the room, where her console sat under the mounted screen, the glow of the interface light still faintly pulsing from standby mode.
She glanced at Astron. Her smirk returned, slowly curving across her face.
"…Wanna shift to something more fun?"
Astron followed her gaze, then looked back at her.
"You're suggesting a game?"
Irina leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she gave him a mock-offended look.
"We've been studying for more than four hours, Astron," she said, drawing the words out as if making a legal case. "A little break wouldn't kill us."
Astron's eyes narrowed slightly. His gaze shifted toward the console in the corner—silent, glowing faintly like a beacon for temptation—and then slowly back to her.
"You…" he said quietly.
Irina blinked. "What?"
Astron didn't change his expression. "You're addicted."
"I am not!" she snapped back instantly, sitting upright with a sharp puff of indignation.
Astron's gaze flicked toward the floor where the spare controller still rested, barely concealed under the edge of the rug. Then, back to her.
"You played a lot by yourself, didn't you?"
Irina hesitated. Just a beat.
Then she muttered, "...I may have."
Astron didn't say anything.
The silence that followed was thick with silent judgment.
Irina crossed her arms, her tone defensive now. "But so what? You also played."
Astron nodded slightly, as calm as ever. "I played only two games a day."
Irina stared at him. "That's it?"
"I maintained balance."
"You're insufferable."
"And you're inconsistent."
She huffed and grabbed the second controller. "Fine. I'll show you inconsistency—when I crush it in the next match."
Astron tilted his head slightly. "That would be consistent with your delusions."
Irina's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you're on."
The console lit up as the controllers synced in, the warm study-lamp glow now joined by the crisp shimmer of the screen flickering to life. Books and notes still lay scattered across the table, forgotten for now…..
Chapter 989 - Mid-terms
"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.
Chapter 990 - Mid-terms (2)
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.
Chapter 991 - 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.
Chapter 992 - A silent confontration (2)
Eleanor's gaze held steady, her posture not shifting a fraction. She had been waiting for this moment—or rather, for this angle. It was only a matter of time.
So it begins.
She didn't show it on her face, but she knew the question beneath Amelia's civility. The way her voice softened when mentioning the mentorships. The way her tone lingered just a second longer on personally.
It wasn't curiosity.
It was positioning.
"Yes," Eleanor replied, her voice cool and unbothered. "I have."
Amelia tilted her head ever so slightly, as if in admiration, but Eleanor knew better. "They must be… interesting students," she said lightly. "To merit your personal oversight."
There it is.
Eleanor didn't flinch. "They are."
Amelia's expression didn't waver, but her eyes sharpened ever so slightly, the warmth in her voice now edged with something colder—curiosity dipped in subtle challenge.
"Why?" she asked, tone still polite. "Why them, Eleanor? You could've chosen any number of promising second-years for mentorship. Instead, you picked two first-years—raw, unpolished, unstable by most standards—and took them under your wing personally."
Eleanor met her gaze without blinking. "I have my reasons."
The silence that followed wasn't long. But it was heavy.
Amelia's smile thinned.
"I see."
She held Eleanor's gaze for a breath longer—just long enough to signal that she didn't buy the vague answer—but not long enough to confront it outright.
Then she smiled again. Soft. Perfect.
As if she hadn't asked the question at all.
"Well," Amelia said lightly, "on the subject of oversight, I've been meaning to ask…"
Eleanor's shoulders didn't shift, but she felt the tone change immediately. This was no longer about Astron and Ethan.
This was about the infrastructure.
"The facility," Amelia continued. "The one you've been using for private instruction."
Her words were carefully chosen. Not accusatory—just factual.
Eleanor didn't answer right away.
Amelia continued.
"The advanced training center you've been managing access to—quietly, but not secretly. I was curious. It doesn't appear in the official facilities budget. So I looked into it."
A small tilt of her head. Still smiling.
"Some of the regulators you installed are flagged as pre-market prototypes."
Eleanor's voice was even. "That's correct. Most of the equipment is still in the development stage. I worked with two of the Federation's adaptive tech providers under discretionary approval."
Amelia nodded slowly. "I see. And the rest?"
Eleanor's gaze sharpened. "What about the rest?"
"The parts that aren't developmental. The foundational tech. Full reinforcement matrixes. Psion tracking rings. The manual resonance trainers. None of those are prototype models."
A pause.
"You used standard-grade training infrastructure. Quietly acquired."
"I did."
Amelia's smile widened just slightly.
"Which means the center wasn't just a test bed, Eleanor. It was a choice. You built it with intent."
Another pause. One heartbeat longer.
And then, Eleanor's voice cut through the space like a clean blade.
"And what are you coming at, Vice Headmaster?" she asked calmly. "Spit it out."
No hesitation. No softening.
Just steel.
The corridor stilled.
And for a moment, Amelia's smile was the only thing still moving.
Amelia's smile remained intact, but her eyes sharpened—finally cutting through the surface as Eleanor had commanded.
"Very well," she said with a breath that carried the faintest hum of satisfaction. "Since you asked so directly…"
She took a single step closer, voice lowering just enough to keep it between them.
"After the mid-terms, the Hunter Association is planning to host an Inter-Academy Tournament."
The words dropped like a stone in still water.
Eleanor didn't react immediately.
Not physically.
But her gaze narrowed—sharp, focused, dangerous.
"…What?"
It wasn't a whisper.
It wasn't loud either.
Just ice. Cold and edged.
Because she hadn't heard a single word about this—not through the official channels, not from the liaison officers she kept tabs on, not even from her most reliable contact in the upper echelons of the Federation's Combat Affairs Board.
And for someone like Eleanor White—that was unacceptable.
Amelia's tone stayed light. "It's normal you haven't heard of it yet. They haven't made it official."
She smiled again—mock innocence on her face, but something sharper beneath.
"If not for my boyfriend, I wouldn't have heard of it either."
Eleanor's eyebrows lifted. That caught her off guard.
"You have a boyfriend?"
Amelia blinked. Then let out a soft laugh, as if amused by the shift in tone. "Is that really the part you're latching onto?"
"That's not the main topic, is it?"
Amelia's smile didn't waver. If anything, it brightened—as though they were discussing weather, not maneuvering over political landmines.
And then, just as Eleanor opened her mouth to press further, Amelia raised a single hand, palm soft and casual, but unmistakably final.
"No more questions," she said, almost teasing. "I've told you all I intend to."
Eleanor's mouth closed, jaw taut.
Amelia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough that the next words slid through the air like silk-covered steel.
"You've reaped benefits, Eleanor. You've used resources most professors wouldn't dare touch. Funds. Equipment. Prototype tech. You've built a facility, shielded it from scrutiny, and poured Federation-grade tools into two students."
Her head tilted—still smiling.
"So… it's only fair, isn't it?"
Her eyes glittered with something unspoken.
"That your mentees are the ones who repay it."
There was no need to spell it out further.
The implication was clear. She wasn't asking Eleanor's permission.
She was placing them.
Astron.
Ethan.
They were going into the tournament.
Amelia gave one final, pristine smile.
"I'll put both of them on the team. Don't worry," she added as she turned gracefully, already walking away. "I know what to do."
And just like that—
She was gone.
Leaving Eleanor in the corridor, the early morning light now feeling a little colder.
Eleanor remained still long after Amelia's footsteps faded down the corridor.
The light through the arched windows no longer felt clean. It felt like glass under scrutiny—thin, exposed, too clear to be safe. Her arms stayed folded, but her fingers had curled tighter against her coat.
Something's wrong.
Amelia was slippery—always had been—but this wasn't her usual level of mischief. This wasn't her trading gossip for influence or poking at policies to feel clever.
This was precision.
How had she gotten that information?
No official notices had gone out. No circulars, no private communiqués, no flagged developments in the Association's agenda. And Eleanor had connections. Deep ones.
If the Hunter Association was planning an Inter-Academy Tournament, it should have hit her radar first.
But it hadn't.
And somehow, Amelia knew.
Is the Headmaster aware?
That was the next problem. If Jonathan knew and hadn't said anything… then things were worse than she thought. Either he was keeping secrets now—or Amelia was playing her own game behind his back.
Both options were equally concerning.
But the most frustrating piece wasn't the secrecy.
It was the placement.
Why Ethan? Why Astron?
Eleanor could understand interest in Ethan. He was visible, rising fast, tied to a powerful name. A crowd-drawer. A headline. Someone the guilds would latch onto with a little polish and a few clean victories.
But Astron?
He wasn't loud. He wasn't marketable. He didn't play politics or show off in duels.
He was a shadow with a sharp edge.
Which meant Amelia had looked closer.
Which meant this wasn't just coincidence.
So what is she playing at?