Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 1013 - 238.3 - Noticed

"I'm here for Miss Gracewind."

"Eh?" Sylvie blinked.

It wasn't a gasp. Not a full-on flinch. frёeωebɳovel.com

Just a soft, almost confused sound—surprised, uncertain. Like she hadn't even considered the possibility.

Her spoon stopped halfway to her mouth, steam curling around her fingers.

Irina said nothing.

But her eyes didn't leave Calera.

Calera continued smoothly. "Her performance today was exceptional. And unique. There are few healers capable of seamless combat utility, fewer still who manage it while maintaining team synchronization. We believe that with the right environment, her capabilities could evolve into something industry-defining."

Sylvie's mouth opened slightly, as if to speak—then closed.

Her expression wasn't one of pride.

It was hesitation.

Quiet nerves, suddenly thrust into view.

Jasmine nudged her knee under the table.

Layla leaned back with a subtle grin. "Told you you were getting too good."

*****

Sylvie didn't respond right away.

Her spoon remained suspended midair, cooling steam curling upward in slow, spiraling tendrils. Her eyes, usually sharp and attentive, were wide now—almost vulnerable. The ambient noise of the tavern had dimmed to a dull murmur around her, and even the heat from the soup in her hands seemed distant.

She wasn't prepared for this.

She should have been. The headmaster had told her as much, time and time again. "The moment your strength begins to shine through, the world will look at you differently. And it won't stop looking."

She remembered his voice—low, unwavering, always a step ahead.

And she remembered her own response. A nervous nod, a forced smile, an "I understand" that hadn't really been true.

Because understanding in theory was nothing like experiencing it. Nothing like having a stranger walk into a restaurant full of upperclassmen and guild scouts—look past the known names, past Irina and Astron—and say her name.

"Miss Gracewind."

It didn't feel real.

Sylvie lowered the spoon slowly and rested it against the side of the bowl with a soft clink. Her heart was racing, but she kept her posture as steady as she could manage. Still, her fingers were curled just a little too tightly around the edge of the table.

She tried to say something—to thank the woman, maybe, or deflect politely—but the words got caught somewhere between her chest and throat.

Why now? Why me?

Her thoughts swirled like mist. She had improved, yes. Headmaster Jonathan had said as much during their last training. Her healing had grown sharper. Her enchantments were faster, more layered. She was no longer afraid to take the front line when necessary. But still...

That small voice inside her whispered:

Was it really enough to be noticed?

Irina hadn't said anything yet. But Sylvie could feel her gaze—cool, measured, just like the scout's. Not jealous. Not disappointed. Just... watching.

Judging?

No. Not like that. But still—measuring. Everyone always measured.

She turned her eyes toward Calera again. The scout's expression was neutral but respectful, hands folded calmly at her waist. There was no hunger in her tone. No impatience.

Just professionalism. And intent.

"...I didn't expect this," Sylvie finally said, her voice soft.

Calera's expression didn't shift. "Very few do. That's why it matters when it happens."

Sylvie's shoulders tightened slightly, her breath catching. There was something terrifying about being seen. Not just watched—but seen.

Layla was grinning openly now, while Jasmine leaned on her elbow with a smirk that only half-masked her pride.

"You're seriously surprised?" Jasmine muttered under her breath. "After today? Girl, you lit up the battlefield."

Sylvie gave a tiny, reluctant smile. It didn't quite reach her eyes.

She looked to Astron next, almost instinctively. He hadn't spoken since the scout entered. But his expression hadn't changed.

Still calm. Still watching.

But she didn't know what he was thinking.

Sylvie's breath trembled in her chest.

She sat there, shoulders still too stiff, hands resting just a little too neatly on the table's edge, trying to quiet the noise in her mind. Praise from Jasmine. Supportive teasing from Layla. Recognition from a scout. All of it should've made her proud. Should've filled her with confidence.

But it didn't.

Not quite.

Because amidst all that motion, her thoughts kept drifting toward him.

Astron.

And it wasn't about seeking validation. At least—not just that. It was something subtler. A need to understand. To know if he'd seen what she had tried to do. If her presence had truly mattered—not to the scout, not to the academy, but to him.

He hadn't spoken. Not a single word since Calera entered. His posture was unchanged, calm, unreadable. Like always.

And still, she couldn't help it.

She looked at him.

Please, she thought, though she didn't say it aloud. Say something. Anything. Just so I know I'm not imagining this. That I'm not... overcomplicating it again.

As if in response, his head tilted slightly, just enough to catch her glance.

And then—

He nodded.

Barely.

And his lips moved, slow and deliberate.

Calm down.

That was all.

No sound. No follow-up.

Just two words, mouthed in complete silence, before he turned his head again and looked elsewhere—as if nothing had happened.

But Sylvie had seen it. Felt it.

And the knot in her chest… loosened.

Just a little.

She stared down at the table, her pulse still rapid—but steadier now. The storm of thoughts still swirled, but it no longer screamed.

Calm down.

She exhaled through her nose, slow and quiet, and this time when her fingers relaxed against the wood, they didn't tremble.

He wasn't the type to praise. He didn't deal in flattery or theatrics.

But he saw her.

That was enough.

Her lips twitched into the faintest smile—so small it barely qualified as one. But it was real.

Yes, she thought. I should calm down.

She'd been seen.

Sylvie took another quiet breath, steadying herself the way she'd seen Lilia do countless times—shoulders back, chin slightly raised, eyes focused but not overly sharp. She imagined the older girl's voice, the poised cadence, the carefully measured confidence that never came off as arrogance.

How would she do it?

Not with panic. Not with hesitation.

So Sylvie copied it.

Her heart was still racing beneath her ribs, but she swallowed the tension and shaped her next words carefully—soft, but composed.

"Thank you," she said, her voice no longer trembling. "I'm… honored by the opportunity."

Calera nodded, just once, a subtle acknowledgment of grace accepted with grace. Her expression remained neutral, but her eyes sharpened almost imperceptibly. She'd noticed the shift. Registered the poise. And it was clear that she approved.

Irina still hadn't said anything—but Sylvie could feel her watching. Not in a threatening way. More like a judge… or perhaps something adjacent to a peer. Someone who understood what it meant to step forward and be seen, even when the spotlight burned.

The moment passed without disruption.

Calera straightened, offering a faint, professional smile. "I won't keep you. There will be more formal discussions following the practical rounds. For now, consider this an early invitation."

With a courteous nod to the table—and a slightly deeper one toward Irina—she turned and stepped away, her departure as precise and quiet as her arrival.

Sylvie let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Jasmine leaned in almost immediately. "You did so well just now," she whispered. "Wow….I really didn't expect you would do it like this."

Layla chuckled, resting her elbow on the table and giving Sylvie a sly look. "Well, well. Look at you, Miss Composed. We've seen a whole different side of you today."

Jasmine grinned. "Seriously. First, you outshine half the field in a dungeon, and now you're pulling off political poise like a nobleborn sponsor daughter."

Sylvie flushed slightly but smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just… trying not to faint."

Layla smirked. "Well, you faked it really well."

The table shared a low ripple of laughter, the kind that came after tension broke—warm, easy, full of earned release.

But the moment cooled subtly when Astron, still seated quietly at the edge of the booth, finally spoke.

"Since one of them came," he said, voice even and calm, "others are bound to follow."

They all turned toward him. He wasn't smiling. His gaze was sharp—calculating, not cold, but distant in a way that cut through the afterglow of triumph.

His eyes settled on Sylvie. Not critically. Not warmly either. Just… clearly.

"This one," he said, the quiet weight of the words leaving no room for misunderstanding, "is not the end."

Sylvie's smile faded slightly.