Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 1063

The sun had barely crested the treetops when the cadets of Class HA25 were called to the academy's northern assembly hall. Pale morning light filtered through the arched windows, casting soft beams across the polished stone floor and drawing long shadows behind the rows of chairs. A faint chill still clung to the early hour, curling beneath coats and boots.

Yet none of the cadets complained.

They were tired, yes—many with the sluggish movements of those who hadn't seen proper sleep in days—but they were also attentive. The week had been long. Grueling. But it was over.

And as they settled into their seats, some with flasks of caffeine-tonics in hand, others merely leaning back with the heavy relief of survival, they all waited for one voice.

And she didn't make them wait long.

Professor Eleanor entered the room with her usual quiet authority—coat sharp, steps deliberate, presence unmistakable. She walked directly to the center dais without a wasted motion, hands folded neatly over the tablet in her grasp.

When she finally spoke, her tone was level, clear, and—unexpectedly—warm.

"Good morning."

Silence. Then, a few quiet murmurs of acknowledgment. The cadets straightened instinctively.

Eleanor scanned the room once before continuing.

"This morning's gathering is not a briefing. It is not an evaluation. It is recognition."

She paused just long enough to let the words settle.

"The midterms are complete."

That alone earned a small wave of quiet sighs and slumped shoulders.

"The scouts," she went on, "have now finished their initial evaluations and submitted their observational feedback. And while their presence may have felt… intrusive to some, I want to remind you—this was the first time such a measure has ever been implemented."

Her gaze swept over the rows of cadets. "There were missteps. Hiccups in coordination. I will not deny that. But despite that—despite the pressure, the adjustments, the sheer volume of work expected of you this week—you performed."

Some heads lifted. A few blinked in faint surprise. Praise from Eleanor was rare. Direct praise? Almost unheard of.

"You've been fighting through assignments, enduring early lectures, surviving dungeon deployments, and sharpening coordination with your teams—all while being evaluated by some of the most critical eyes in the hunter world."

She tilted her head slightly, voice softening just a hair.

"And you didn't break."

A quiet pride laced her next words.

"You adapted. You pushed. You carried each other where needed. And you held your own."

For the first time in the entire semester, Julia didn't make a joke. Ethan simply nodded to himself, arms crossed but shoulders just a little less tense. Irina's brow furrowed faintly, absorbing the weight of the compliment. Astron sat still, as always—but even he held her gaze, unwavering.

"You are not perfect," Eleanor said, "and there will be more trials to come. But this week… was not a bad one."

She let that hang for a moment.

"Congratulations, cadets."

The words rang through the room with a quiet finality.

"You've earned it."

A few quiet gasps slipped through the stillness.

It wasn't loud—just the sound of breath catching in the back of a few throats, like the air had momentarily turned too sharp to inhale.

Because it was surprising.

No, more than that—it was unreal.

Eleanor White, known across the campus as the professor who never sugar-coated a lesson, never softened a blow, and rarely—if ever—gave out praise, had just congratulated them.

Not as a formality. Not as an administrative line item.

But as something real. Earned.

For a heartbeat, no one knew how to react.

Some cadets glanced at each other with raised brows and disbelief etched clearly across their faces. One even mouthed a silent, "Did that just happen?" to their neighbor.

Julia's lips parted slightly as if she were about to make a joke—instinctive, habitual—but even she didn't follow through. She merely leaned back in her chair, eyebrows lifted, expression caught somewhere between baffled amusement and reluctant appreciation.

Eleanor, unbothered by their reactions, continued.

"You have been operating under continuous strain. Combat drills. Dungeon rotations. Tactical analysis. Coordinated evaluations. You've fulfilled every requirement—some of you beyond expectation."

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