Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

“Of course he’s here.”

Astron’s pace remained fluid, measured, his breathing so steady it might as well have been silence. He didn’t seem startled by their approach—just aware of it, the way one might notice a shift in the wind before a storm.

Ethan caught up first, falling into stride beside him.

“Yo,” he said, casual—but his voice faltered just slightly at the end.

Because now that he was closer, he could see it clearly.

Astron’s training uniform—normally sleek and self-regulating—clung visibly to his frame, the material darkened and sticking in places where sweat had soaked clean through. His shoulders, lean but sharply defined, moved with practiced control. His breath still came evenly, not ragged, but his skin shimmered faintly in the light with that unmistakable sheen of exertion.

It wasn’t just that he was fit.

It was that his body looked… active. Like a drawn bowstring. Alive with energy.

More than that, the sweat didn’t make sense.

The academy’s training suits were designed to absorb and filter moisture, venting excess heat through layered mana-weaves.

But this? This wasn’t normal post-run sweat. This was saturation. This was hours of movement—an effort so prolonged that the suit had reached its limit.

“…Wait,” Ethan murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. “How long have you been out here?”

Astron glanced at him, expression unreadable. Then, simply, calmly:

“The whole night.”

Ethan’s mind blanked for a second. “The whole—?”

Just then, a second pair of footsteps rushed up from behind.

Julia reached them with a small huff, brushing a few loose strands of hair back under her headband. “You two took off like rockets—”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Her eyes landed on Astron.

Her gaze dropped.

And narrowed.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Astron didn’t look back.

Julia blinked once, then twice, visibly trying to make sense of it. “Did you run through a damn waterfall or something?”

Ethan still hadn’t found his voice again. His mind was replaying Astron’s answer on loop.

The whole night.

He wasn’t joking. There was no trace of irony in his voice. No smugness. No bravado.

Just fact.

That was the strange part.

No—that was another strange part.

Because Ethan knew what intense training smelled like. The tang of sweat. The sharp edge of burnt mana. The faint iron sting of someone pushing their body just past the threshold of human.

But standing this close to Astron—he didn’t smell any of that.

No rank sweat. No scorched scent of overworked glyphs. None of the usual signals.

Instead, the air around him carried something else entirely.

A faint scent—clean, crisp… almost floral.

Ethan blinked again, confused. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was noticeable now that he’d slowed down. Something light. Calming. A touch herbal, but not artificial.

Lavender?

It hit him all at once. Not some cheap cologne. Not body wash. Something deeper. Subtle enough to feel natural.

Which made it all the more unsettling.

He glanced sideways again.

Astron still ran at a steady rhythm, his eyes distant, his breath even.

“Okay,” Ethan muttered, half to himself, “what the hell.”

Julia must’ve noticed too, because her head tilted slightly and she leaned just a little closer.

And then frowned.

“…You smell like a damn herbal garden,” she muttered. “What is that?”

Astron didn’t break pace.

“I do not carry artificial scents.”

“Okay,” Julia said, baffled, “then what is it?”

There was a brief pause.

Then, as casually as if discussing the weather:

“…It’s because of a fruit I consumed,” Astron said at last, as if that answered everything.

“A fruit?” Julia repeated, her brows pulling together. “You’re telling me you smell like a luxury soap aisle because you ate fruit?”

“Yes.”

Ethan blinked. “What kind of fruit does that?”

Julia immediately leaned closer again, narrowing her eyes like she could sniff out the truth. “Where is it? I want one.”

Astron didn’t reply. He just kept running, eyes forward, completely unmoved by her demand.

“Hey.” Julia jogged slightly ahead to face him. “You heard me. Where’d you get it?”

This time, Astron gave a faint sigh. A quiet roll of his eyes followed—barely there, but just enough to carry his meaning: If it were easily obtainable, everyone would have one by now.

Julia scowled. “Don’t roll your eyes at me like that. That’s not an answer.”

“I’m not sharing that information.”

“Then I’m gonna beat you up.”

“No.”

She grinned with a spark in her eye. “Oh? So you’re scared?”

Astron didn’t dignify that with a response.

Julia, naturally, took that as a challenge.

“Alright then, lavender prince,” she muttered, coiling her arm back and lunging forward to smack his back with the same force she’d used on Ethan earlier. “Take this—!”

But just before contact—just before her palm connected—

Astron shifted.

A single half-step to the left, a turn of the shoulder so smooth it felt like water curling around a stone.

Her hand met nothing but air.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, tone flat.

Julia blinked, startled. “Did you just dodge me?”

Astron didn’t answer. He kept running, calm and indifferent, as if she were a particularly noisy leaf on the wind.

Julia’s mouth opened—then shut—then opened again.

“Oh don’t touch me, I’m Astron, I’m too elegant for human contact,” she mocked, flailing her arms in exaggerated grace. “Ooooh I’m so cool, I glow when I breathe, I bathe in herbal mystery fruits under the moonlight—”

Ethan choked on a laugh, nearly tripping on a rock. “You’re gonna die one of these days, you know that?”

Julia smirked. “If anyone tries to kill me, they can go ahead and try. I am the GOAT.”

Ethan gave her a flat look. “Don’t watch too much anime.”

“Hehe…” Julia grinned, completely unapologetic. “Too late. I just binge-watched the full season last night.”

Ethan blinked. “Wait, really? The whole thing?”

“The whole thing,” she said, eyes gleaming. “I started after dinner, and when I looked up, the sun was rising.”

“Julia…”

“What? It was awesome. Exploding swords, time ghosts, three consecutive betrayals, and the protagonist awakened nine different forms of emotional trauma.”

Ethan let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a Tuesday at the Academy.”

“Exactly!” Julia laughed. “That’s why I needed it. Catharsis.”

Astron, still ahead by half a step, didn’t comment—but Ethan caught the faintest flicker at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. Not quite not a smile.

Naturally, the two fell into his pace, syncing strides without even thinking. It was something they had done a hundred times before, especially on runs like this. The kind without urgency. The kind where breath, rhythm, and presence did the talking more than the words did.

It wasn’t forced.

It just was.

Ethan rolled his shoulder out lightly, the edge of soreness fading with every step. “So. Did you cry?”

Julia tilted her head. “At what?”

“You know. That part.”

“Oh.” She exhaled. “You mean when the best friend sacrificed themselves and the main character screamed into the void for three minutes?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah.”

Julia looked straight ahead. “I didn’t cry.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“I almost cried,” she amended. “But I held it in.”

“Goat behavior,” Ethan said solemnly.

She grinned. “Always.”