Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 1048 247.6 - Brother
The soft chime of the mana curtain shifting signaled the return of the waiter, followed by a smooth line of floating trays guided by subtle glyphwork. Plates settled gently into place, releasing waves of steam and aroma that instantly warmed the space between them. Spiced meat, delicate herbs, rich broths, and crisp-glazed fish—all glowing faintly with the natural mana infused during preparation.
Layla leaned over her plate, eyes practically shining. “Finally. Real food.”
Jasmine hummed in approval, already breaking into her stew. “Flavor. Texture. I could cry.”
Even Astron, ever composed, took a slow bite of his fish and nodded, as if silently validating the kitchen’s competence.
Leonard took his time, sipping the black chai first, eyes half-lidded in thought. Then, as he began cutting into the lentils, his gaze shifted subtly—settling once more on Sylvie.
He didn’t ask right away.
He waited until the rhythm of the table eased, until conversation softened under the pull of full plates and familiar company.
Then, gently—
“How has she been?”
Sylvie blinked, lifting her head.
Leonard’s voice was even. Not sharp. Just genuinely curious.
“How is she as a teammate?” he clarified. “I know what I’ve seen in the field. But I’d like to hear it from those who fight beside her.”
Layla was the first to grin.
“Oh, she’s great,” she said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “A tactical genius. Super composed. Never panics. Never slips. Very graceful.”
Sylvie blinked in suspicion. “Layla—”
“But,” Layla continued, smirking now, “also the same person who fell asleep during her own mana manipulation drill and set the teacher’s coat on fire by mistake.”
Sylvie’s spoon clattered back into her bowl. “That was one time! I was tired!”
Jasmine was already snorting into her drink. “And you drool when you’re out cold. Like a full-on puddle. It’s kind of impressive.”
“Jasmine!”
Irina, cool as ever, sipped her water and said, “She’s better at dark missions for some reason. Less tripping.”
Sylvie groaned into her hands, nearly melting into the table. “You’re all traitors.”
Leonard chuckled softly, a sound that felt both amused and oddly warm. “I see. Highly effective. Needs sleep. Potential fire hazard.”
“You forgot emotionally volatile,” Layla added helpfully.
Jasmine leaned in. “And deadly when annoyed. She even spiked my tea with bittergrass once.”
“It was you and Danielle who started it,” Sylvie shot back, lifting her head just enough to glare at Jasmine through her fingers. “If you hadn’t—”
She stopped.
Mid-sentence.
Like the words had caught on something sharp inside her throat.
A beat of silence followed, subtle and strange—just long enough for the change to be noticeable.
Layla blinked, her expression softening. Jasmine’s grin faded, a flicker of realization passing behind her eyes. Even Irina’s brows drew together slightly, her gaze settling on Sylvie with quiet awareness.
Leonard watched his sister carefully.
“Sylvie?” he asked, tone lower now. “What happened?”
But she didn’t answer.
She kept her face forward, eyes lowered, lips pressed into a thin line. The flush from the earlier teasing had faded, replaced by something colder. Quieter. Not angry—just closed.
As if the mention of that name had dragged up something she didn’t want to unpack at this table.
Leonard didn’t press her.
But his eyes darkened subtly, the quiet smile fading from his face.
And then, he turned—slowly—toward Astron.
“You haven’t spoken much since the start,” he said, voice even. Measuring.
Astron didn’t flinch. Didn’t even lift his eyes from the tea he was methodically stirring, as if the rhythm mattered more than the silence between words.
“I don’t speak unless it’s necessary,” he said simply.
Leonard’s gaze remained fixed on Astron, narrowing just slightly—not in irritation, but in reassessment.
“So,” he said slowly, tone laced with curiosity, “you find these talks unnecessary.”
Astron finally looked up, his expression calm, unreadable as ever. But his reply came without hesitation.
“I didn’t find it necessary to talk,” he said. “That doesn’t mean your talk was unnecessary.”
There was no edge to his words. No challenge. Just an even, flat truth laid across the table like a clean-cut card.
Leonard blinked.
“…That—” he started, then stopped, as if unsure whether to be offended or impressed.
Sylvie, finally recovering from the earlier shift, let out a quiet breath and cut in gently, “He’s always like this. Don’t mind him.”
Leonard tilted his head slightly, eyes still on Astron. “He doesn’t like talking?”
Sylvie offered a small, almost fond smile. “He does talk. Just not often. Usually when it’s important. When it matters.”
Jasmine, clearly recovering her grin, added, “Yeah, and when he does, it’s usually something that saves all our lives.”
Layla nodded. “Or wins the fight. Or breaks the formation perfectly. Or points out the one flaw we didn’t see after ten minutes of planning.”
Irina didn’t chime in—but the faint twitch of her lips said she agreed.
Leonard exhaled, finally leaning back into his chair. “I see.”
He looked at Astron again, this time with a different expression—not wariness, not surprise.
Something closer to acknowledgment.
“A reliable teammate, then.”
Sylvie nodded. “He is.”
Astron didn’t say anything.
But he didn’t need to.
The silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore.
It simply was—natural, grounded. The kind of quiet that existed in people who didn’t need to fill the air to be present.
And for a moment, Leonard understood why Sylvie had changed. Why she had grown.
Because this table… this team… was more than it seemed.
*****
The meal settled into a comfortable rhythm after that. Plates shifted, steam drifted, utensils tapped gently against ceramic. No one rushed. The conversation thinned—not out of discomfort, but because food, warmth, and the quiet hum of the room created a lull too pleasant to fill.
Leonard didn’t speak much.
He didn’t need to.
He listened.
And he watched.
Layla was bright. Protective. She played loud but thought deeper than she let on. Her eyes scanned every time Sylvie’s mood shifted, like she was used to anchoring people without making it obvious.
Jasmine was razor-tongued and playful—blunt, but strangely nurturing. She made jabs like a duelist, all sharp edges and quick laughs, but her eyes softened whenever Sylvie spoke. There was trust there. Mutual ribbing, yes—but the kind you could only afford when the bond beneath it was iron.
Irina… she was more difficult to read. Quiet. Observant. Older, maybe not in age but in posture. She was the kind who didn’t speak unless her words would shape the room. Leonard respected that. She didn’t reach for control—but when she did, the others deferred to her without question. Not because of fear.
Because of trust.
And Astron—
Leonard watched him more than the others.
Not obviously. Just enough.
He didn’t eat fast, but he didn’t eat slowly. He moved like someone used to being alert while eating. Always angled slightly so he could see the room, even if his gaze never seemed to shift. His answers, when they came, were short—but never dismissive. Everything about him was measured. Contained.
And Sylvie—though she tried not to show it—watched him often.
She glanced his way when someone laughed too loud. When the table turned too sharply to tease her. When Leonard’s questions grew even slightly personal.
Her gaze drifted sideways—not searching for permission.
Just… reassurance.
Leonard didn’t miss it.
More than once, Astron answered her with a single look. A slight shift in his posture. A nod so faint only someone who knew what to look for would notice.
But Sylvie did.
And she relaxed each time.
That’s the one, isn’t it?
Leonard didn’t smile. He didn’t react.
He simply filed it away.
Noted.
Not because he was ready to comment.
But because it mattered.
Sylvie had changed since he’d last seen her—not just in skill, not just in strength. But in how she carried herself. In the presence she held at this table.
And watching her teammates, Leonard could see why.
‘This is pretty good.’
