Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Eleanor walked briskly through the academy halls, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors as she made her way toward the Headmaster's office. The corridors were quieter than usual—most students were still in their designated areas, training or attending lectures—but the silence only served to amplify the thoughts swirling in her mind.

The call from the Headmaster had been expected, yet the timing of it was… suspicious.

She could already guess the subject.

The growing divide between the freshmen and sophomores had been simmering for some time now, but these recent spikes in aggression? They weren't natural.

This wasn't just a case of upperclassmen asserting dominance.

Someone was pulling the strings.

She knew it. The academy knew it. But no one could prove it—not yet.

Too Many Incidents. Too Many Patterns.

In the past three weeks, tensions had escalated rapidly.

Several fights had broken out, all conveniently in places where faculty intervention was delayed.

Three cadets had already been expelled—all of them sophomores.

Yet, even before today's case with Ethan, multiple disciplinary actions had been taken against both sides—but disproportionately against the first-years.

The academy wasn't turning a blind eye to it. They were taking action—but was it enough?

Eleanor exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuff of her uniform as she turned a corner.

The freshmen are being pushed into a corner.

And what happens when people are pushed too far?

They start fighting back.

That's what someone wanted. Not discipline. Not control. They wanted a full-blown confrontation.

Someone was deliberately provoking this conflict.

And if it wasn't stopped soon, it wouldn't be just fights in the hallways.

It would be something worse.

Ethan Hartley: A Naïve Fool, or a Future Problem?

Despite the bigger picture, her thoughts kept drifting back to one person.

Ethan.

Naïve. Frustratingly naïve.

Strong, yes. But naïve.

He was getting stronger too quickly, and he was doing it without realizing what that meant. He was the kind of person who thought that being right was enough to win. That strength alone could change the outcome.

That kind of thinking?

It was dangerous.

Eleanor had seen too many cadets like him before. The ones who rose too fast, too young, too unprepared for the political and strategic games that came with power. Some of them survived. Some of them even thrived.

But most?

They burned out.

Or worse.

She sighed through her nose, rolling her shoulders slightly to ease the tension creeping into them.

Ethan was strong. There was no denying it. His physical potential alone put him on track to be an elite-level Hunter, and his instincts—while undisciplined—showed raw promise.

But if he didn't learn how to navigate the battlefield outside of combat?

He'd end up like so many others before him.

And Eleanor?

She didn't have the patience for wasted potential.

*****

Eleanor pushed open the heavy doors of the meeting room, stepping inside with purpose. The large chamber, typically used for strategic discussions among faculty, was already filled with the murmurs of gathered professors and instructors. The long, rectangular table at the center was lined with neatly stacked files—student profiles, incident reports, and records of disciplinary actions taken over the past month.

The Headmaster sat at the head of the table, his sharp eyes scanning the room as he waited for silence. The tension was palpable. This meeting had been called with urgency, and everyone knew why.

Eleanor quickly took her seat, eyes flicking across the room. Some professors looked concerned. Others looked frustrated. A few looked outright defiant.

The door shut with a soft thud behind her, signaling the beginning of the meeting.

Jonathan leaned forward, folding his hands over the table. His voice, when he spoke, was low but carried the unmistakable weight of authority.

"We have a problem," he stated plainly. "One that can no longer be ignored."

He tapped a finger against the nearest file—one labeled with Ethan Hartley's name—before sweeping his gaze across the room.

"In the past month, we have seen an increasing divide between our first-year and second-year cadets. At first, we dismissed it as routine tensions between classes, but after the last three weeks, that theory no longer holds." His voice hardened. "Someone is provoking this."

Several murmurs of agreement rose among the faculty, but others remained silent, their expressions guarded.

Jonathan continued. "We've taken disciplinary actions. We've attempted to contain the aggression. Yet, the incidents are not only continuing but escalating. Three sophomores have already been expelled, yet the tensions remain."

He glanced at Eleanor, nodding slightly for her to add to the discussion.

Eleanor straightened, speaking with the same level of calm authority. "What we're seeing now is no longer just fights. It's a deliberate attempt to force a larger conflict. The first-years are being pushed into a corner, and if this continues, retaliation will become inevitable." She let the weight of her words settle before adding, "And when that happens, it won't be in some hallway scuffle. It will be something worse."

The room fell into silence, professors exchanging glances of concern.

Jonathan's fingers drummed against the desk, his tone turning sharper. "Effective immediately, academy surveillance will be increased."

A murmur of discontent rippled through the professors, but before anyone could interrupt, Jonathan continued, his voice unwavering.

"We cannot afford to let this spiral further. We will be implementing increased monitoring of student interactions, including dormitory perimeters and common areas. Any unauthorized group gatherings will be flagged for review. Additional faculty will be assigned to high-risk locations."

At that, several professors finally voiced their opposition.

"This level of surveillance is excessive," Professor Hale, a seasoned instructor known for his strong ties with noble families, argued. "We are not a military compound, Headmaster. We are an academy. The students come here to grow, not to be treated like potential criminals."

Another professor, a middle-aged woman with short auburn hair, spoke next. "Many of the families already feel that we are overreaching with our authority. If we impose this level of control, it will only deepen their distrust. Some of them could take action against the academy."

Jonathan's gaze turned sharp, but before he could speak, another voice chimed in—one he had been expecting.

Amelia.

His daughter, standing near the back of the room, arms crossed. Her tone was firm but laced with irritation.

"Father, I understand that the situation is serious. But you're pushing too far. The students need structure, not suffocation. If we do this, we risk turning the academy into a prison. That's not going to fix the real problem—it will only make things worse."

A few murmurs of agreement echoed around the room.

Jonathan exhaled, his patience wearing thin. He leaned forward, his gaze cold and unyielding.

"You are all mistaken," he said, his voice like steel. "The real problem is that we have let things spiral too far. We have allowed hesitation, concern for perception, and outside influences to dictate how we run this academy."

He stood, hands pressing against the table. The sheer weight of his presence silenced the entire room.

"I will not let this escalate any further." His voice was calm, but it carried the unmistakable force of a Venerate—one of the Federation's strongest.

His next words sent a wave of shock through the room.

"Club activities are suspended indefinitely."

The reaction was immediate.

"Suspended?" Professor Hale shot up from his chair, eyes wide with disbelief. "Headmaster, that's absurd! The clubs are a vital part of the academy's structure!"

"They are also one of the few places where students gather unsupervised. And in this current climate, that is an unnecessary risk," Jonathan countered, his voice unwavering.

"This is going too far!" Another professor objected. "Club activities keep the students engaged, they foster teamwork and camaraderie—if we take that away, what do you think will happen? They will resent us."

"They already resent each other," Jonathan shot back coldly. "And that resentment is being manipulated. Someone is fanning the flames of this divide, and until we uncover who and why, I will not allow the academy to provide them more opportunities."

A voice of protest rose once more—this time from Amelia.

"This is not the way to handle this, Father." She stepped forward, her frustration evident. "By shutting down the clubs, you're taking away one of the only things keeping the students grounded. If you strip them of their sense of normalcy, you're going to push them further apart."

Jonathan's gaze met his daughter's—steely, unrelenting. "And if I do nothing, we risk more than a few disgruntled students."

The room remained tense, filled with unreadable expressions. Jonathan had made his decision, and they all knew it. The discussion was over.

After a long silence, Eleanor finally spoke. "Headmaster… if we're doing this, then we need to prepare for backlash. From the students. From the families. Even from the guilds."

Jonathan exhaled, nodding slowly. "I know." His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. "But we cannot afford to be complacent."

He turned toward the rest of the room, his gaze sweeping over the gathered faculty.

"We do not serve the guilds." His voice was clear, unwavering. "We do not serve the families. We do not serve the government."

He straightened, his presence filling the room like an unshakable force.

"We serve the academy. And we will do what must be done to protect it."

Silence followed.

One by one, the professors gave reluctant nods. Some still looked dissatisfied. Some outright frustrated. But none dared to challenge him further.

Amelia, standing near the back, clenched her fists but said nothing. She knew better than to fight him on this now. But the battle between them was not over.

Eleanor sighed inwardly. This was going to get worse before it got better.

Jonathan took one last look at the room before finally giving his final command.

"Dismissed."