Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

The late afternoon light filtered down through the mana-laced clouds above the Academy’s eastern wing, casting fractured blue-white beams over the training plaza where the dungeon gates shimmered faintly, waiting.

Ethan stood just beyond the edge of the marble steps, eyes fixed toward the horizon—not looking at anything in particular. His spear was slung across his back, the strap cutting diagonally over his shoulder. His gloves were already on, and his gauntlet glyphs hummed faintly with pre-channelled psions.

Still, he hadn’t moved in nearly a full minute.

“Where are you looking at?”

Thud.

A hard smack landed on his shoulder.

“Gah—Julia!” Ethan flinched and stepped forward, nearly stumbling from the sheer force behind her hit. “Do you ever not hit like you’re trying to dislocate something?”

Julia raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. “Would you prefer I aim for your ribs next time? You’re staring into the void like someone in a soap opera. Focus up, Hartley.”

“I was focused,” Ethan muttered, rubbing the sore spot beneath his coat.

“Sure. On the afterlife maybe,” she shot back, then glanced over her shoulder. “Team’s already checking gear. Let’s go.”

They descended the final steps together, where the rest of their squad had gathered near the active gate line.

Their group of five wasn’t elite—at least not on paper—but they’d worked together long enough to find rhythm. Julia was the leader, by rank and presence both. Ethan, second in command—less vocal, but no less steady.

Then there was Raine, a mid-tier Light Affinity who handled healing and defense glyphs. A bit of a perfectionist, and currently double-checking her restoration crystals like her life depended on it.

Marin, a Windwalker speardancer who could not sit still, was bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. His scarf was tied tight across his jaw, eyes flicking toward the gate every few seconds like it might explode.

The final member of their squad stood a little apart from the others, adjusting the tension of her bowstring with slow, practiced motions. Kaela, their long-range specialist and forward scout. Tall, lean, and quiet, with sharp gray eyes that missed nothing. Her job was to mark the path, predict enemy positioning, and put an arrow through a threat before it could breathe in their direction.

Julia had wanted someone else in that role originally. Someone colder. More precise. Someone who saw paths and counters before they even existed.

Astron.

But that offer had never gone through. Whether because of scheduling, politics, or just Astron being Astron, Julia had been forced to pivot. And Kaela, while not the replacement she imagined, had earned her place through consistency.

Still… the pressure showed.

It showed in the stiffness of Kaela’s stance, in the way her fingers lingered too long on her quiver, in the subtle glances the rest of the squad threw toward the watching towers above. The faint shimmer of surveillance glyphs glowed across the upper walkways, and though the scouts had said nothing—made no grand entrances or announcements—their presence was felt in every movement, every breath.

Raine’s lips were tight. Marin had stopped bouncing. Even Deacon stood a little straighter, as if trying to make his silhouette look more disciplined.

Julia noticed.

And, in typical Julia fashion, she smiled.

Not the usual cocky grin. Not the sharp smirk she wore during duels. Just a confident, easy smile that was meant to break tension.

“Well,” she said, one hand on her hip as she looked around at the squad. “We all know the drill. This is just another dungeon. You’ve all done dozens. One foot in front of the other, stick to the plan, don’t die, and we walk out looking prettier than when we walked in.”

Marin gave her a flat look. “That speech worked better when we weren’t being judged by half the Federation.”

Kaela muttered under her breath, “Easy to say when no one’s watching you.”

That struck harder than it should have—but no one said it was wrong.

Julia was from the Middleton Family. Old name. Deep legacy. One of the cornerstone bloodlines of the East. She didn’t need to impress the scouts. Her path was already carved in granite. A few top guilds had probably already sent offers under the table, and she hadn’t even glanced at them.

So when she told them to “just relax,” it didn’t land.

Because for them—Raine, Marin, Kaela, Deacon—this mattered.

This was the moment that decided whether they’d be recruited into real teams or buried in backline support roles for the rest of their careers.

And no matter how well Julia led, she couldn’t understand that fear.

Not the way they did.

Ethan saw it.

Saw the way Kaela’s fingers kept brushing her bowstring like it was the only thing grounding her. Saw the way Raine stared at the ground, whispering some small mantra beneath her breath. Saw how Marin had stopped moving altogether.

Ethan glanced once at Julia’s smile.

She meant well. She always did.

But intent didn’t always meet reception. Not when the air was this tight, when the surveillance glyphs above burned like judgmental stars, and half a dozen recruiting captains were no doubt already watching with pens in hand.

They’re scared.

Not of the dungeon. Not really.

Of what comes after. Of being overlooked.

His gaze drifted to Kaela again—her jaw clenched, shoulders locked like stone.

Then to Raine, still murmuring under her breath.

Marin, whose silence said more than his usual chatter ever did.

And Ethan?

He understood.

Even with the Hartley name.

Even with status, backing, bloodline, prestige.

There had been a time—not that long ago—when he’d stood at the gate just like this. A nobody among legacies. Just a “cadet” who hadn’t Awakened. No lightning. No Form. No spear legacy to draw on. Just expectation—mountains of it—crushing his lungs every time he stepped onto the field.

He remembered the silence in his own dorm after failing his first elemental synchronization trial. The way instructors tried to explain it away—delayed reaction, maybe a compatibility issue, you’ll bloom eventually—while others whispered behind enchanted barriers, wondering if he’d be the Hartley embarrassment.

He remembered standing exactly where Kaela stood now, thinking:

What if this is it?

What if I’m already behind?

What if this is as good as I’ll ever be?

What if I disappoint everyone?

And so—

Ethan took a breath, stepped forward, and let his voice carry—not loud, not commanding like Julia’s—but steady.

“The first time I went through a gate,” he said suddenly, “I tripped.”

Four heads turned. Even Julia blinked.

Ethan kept going.

“Didn’t fall all the way, but I stumbled—boots caught the edge of the mana weave, threw me off balance. My squad leader laughed so hard he almost forgot to pull me out when the mist creature lunged.”

A beat.

Silence.

Then, slowly, Raine blinked. “…Seriously?”

Ethan nodded once. “Dead serious.”

A faint puff of breath—half-scoff, half-disbelief—from Marin. “You? Mr. Hartley Lightning Step?”

Ethan gave a crooked grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Me. Back before I even had lightning. Back before I had Form One, or any clue what I was doing with my spear. I didn’t even have gauntlets. Just a loaned uniform, a secondhand blade, and a mentor who made fun of me more than he taught me.”

He let that hang for a second. Then:

“I know what today feels like. The pressure. The watching eyes. That voice in your head that won’t shut up, saying don’t mess this up.”

Kaela’s fingers stopped moving.

Raine looked up.

Marin shifted, just slightly.

Ethan’s expression softened.

“But listen. This isn’t a test of perfection. It’s not about who moves the cleanest or lands the first blow. This is about what you do when the plan goes wrong. When you stumble. When you mess up.”

He looked at each of them in turn. “Because that moment? That’s when they’re really watching. That’s when you show who you are.”

A pause. The air settled a little.

Then Ethan’s tone lightened—not forced, but real.

“So, if anyone’s planning to trip at the entrance like I did, I’ll buy you coffee after. Call it tradition.”

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