Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 955 220.1 - Protagonist, and heroines?

The academy grounds were lively as always-cadets chatting in groups, practicing in the distance, mana training sessions echoing through the open-air corridors—but for Emily, the world had dimmed into a quiet haze.

Her boots clicked softly against the stone as she made her way across the main path, books clutched tightly to her chest. The early morning breeze tugged at the edges of her uniform coat, but she barely noticed.

Another day. Another set of lectures. Another quiet lunch in the corner of the dining hall.

She had classmates, of course. Names she recognized, faces she nodded to in passing, the occasional comment shared in group exercises. But none of them were close. None of them were the kind of people she could turn to and say, "My father was nearly," or "My guild is bleeding while I sit in a classroom pretending everything's fine." She wasn't sure if it was her own doing-keeping a distance out of instinct-or if it was just the way things had turned out. Either way, the result was the same. She was alone.

Tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, Emily pushed open the doors to the academy's library. The soft scent of old paper and ink welcomed her like an old friend. It was quiet here, mercifully so. No one expected conversation, only silence and study. She found a corner desk near one of the tall arched windows and set her books down. Her schedule had been packed tighter than ever since her father's hospitalization. She had to study. She had to keep her grades up. She had to monitor the state of the guild through encrypted messages and Liora's updates-juggling it all without letting anyone in the academy notice she was unraveling, inch by inch.

No time to rest. No time to grieve.

On the other side, the soft rustle of turning pages and the muted tick of an old wall clock filled the air inside the library. The grand arched windows filtered in a warm, golden light, bathing the wooden tables in a soft glow that made the dust motes shimmer midair like lazy fireflies.

At a corner table near the far wall, Jane sat, her head slightly lowered over an open book. Her fingers flipped through the pages methodically, though her gaze occasionally lingered, her thoughts wandering far from the text. A cup of cooled tea sat untouched beside her, its faint aroma blending with the musty scent of parchment and wax-polished wood.

She looked calm-composed-but it was the kind of stillness that came from being watchful. From waiting.

Lately, her life had changed. Dramatically.

The academy, reeling from the escalating incidents between students, had finally acted. Surveillance systems were upgraded, monitoring spells reinforced, and patrols increased. New policies came down like iron gates: zero-tolerance toward unprovoked aggression, randomized inspections, stricter curfews.