Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

"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…..

------------A/N---------------

My exams are finally finished.