Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 992 - 232.2 - A silent confontration

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?