Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 833

The match continued, but my focus wasn’t entirely on it anymore.

Not because it wasn’t interesting—on the contrary, it was playing out exactly as expected. Lilia had realized her mistake, figured out the interference, and was now seething at the obvious manipulation happening right in front of her. But what could she do? The battlefield had never belonged to her in the first place.

And Selene… Selene was enjoying it.

I knew that without even looking at her.

Still, I kept my gaze fixed on the match, my arms crossed loosely as I leaned against the pillar, observing the subtle shifts in the flow of the fight. But then—

"Do you think life is fair?"

The voice was smooth, lilting with casual amusement.

I didn’t react.

Not immediately.

Because that was a stupid question.

Instead, I remained where I was, my gaze unmoving, uninterested. I wasn’t obligated to answer something so blatantly baiting.

Selene, however, was not the type to tolerate being ignored.

"Isn’t it a bit rude to ignore a lady when she’s speaking?" she mused, her tone carrying just the faintest hint of mock offense.

My expression remained neutral. I tilted my head slightly, shifting my gaze only after a deliberate pause.

"Were you talking to me?" I asked, my voice calm, unreadable. "I thought it was someone else."

A soft chuckle. "Surely you jest," she murmured, her brown eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "Do you sense anyone else near us?"

Of course not.

Selene knew exactly what she was doing. The space around us was clear—while the other cadets were absorbed in the match, she had positioned herself precisely so that only I would hear her.

She wanted this conversation.

And that meant she wanted something from me.

I exhaled through my nose, finally shifting my full attention to her.

Selene Thornheart.

Up close, she was an entity of pure control. Every part of her was meticulously measured—the way her small frame carried itself, the way her shoulders barely moved when she breathed, the exact tilt of her chin as she maintained eye contact. She was deliberate. Every step, every glance, every faint twitch of her fingers—it all served a purpose.

And I saw it all.

My perception was sharp, honed by experience and something more, something instinctual. I caught the minute shifts in her weight as she stood, the barely-there flick of her fingertips as if adjusting invisible threads, the near-imperceptible rise and fall of her chest that never quite matched the rhythm of a truly relaxed person.

She was playing.

Not just with Lilia.

Not just with Adrian.

With everything.

With me.

"You’re watching carefully," she noted, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was soft, but it carried weight. "What do you see?"

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I observed a little longer.

Her balance was perfect—no unnecessary movements. Her pulse, as far as I could tell, was even. There was no stiffness in her shoulders, no hint of nervous energy in her fingers. She was comfortable.

That was dangerous.

Because comfort meant control.

And if she was this controlled while orchestrating a match that she had rigged from the start, then what else had she already accounted for?

Finally, I spoke. "I see someone with a lot of free time," I said evenly. "Enough to interfere in petty squabbles."

Her lips curved, pleased. "Oh, how unkind," she murmured, placing a hand against her chest in mock offense. "And here I thought I was simply showing support for my dear little sister."

I didn’t respond to that.

Selene smiled again, shifting her gaze back to the match as if she were truly invested in the outcome. "But, of course," she continued, "I wouldn’t expect you to believe such things. After all, you’ve been watching me just as much as I’ve been watching you."

She turned back to me, her brown eyes sharp with something unreadable.

"What do you think? This figure of mine, it is quite nice, isn’t it?"

The moment Selene posed her question, something shifted.

It wasn’t just her words—it was the subtle yet deliberate way she adjusted her stance, the barely noticeable tilt of her hips, the slow, measured breath that made her chest rise and fall in a way designed to draw attention. The way her fingers lightly brushed against her collarbone, as if absentmindedly tracing the curve of her skin.

And then, there was the mana.

My [Perceptive Insight] triggered almost instantly.

A pulse of energy, faint yet deliberate, radiated from her. It was controlled, refined, meant to be unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But I was paying attention.

I always was.

This wasn’t just body language—Selene was actively using mana to influence the atmosphere around her. And not in an aggressive or direct way. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, designed to slip under someone’s guard without them realizing it.

I exhaled slowly.

’Interesting…’

I let my senses sharpen further, attempting to trace the psionic nature of her mana flow. If this was a skill, it had to have a structure, an identifiable pattern. But the moment I tried to analyze it, the mana seemed to slip, as though avoiding my direct scrutiny.

Not by accident.

By design.