Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 708 159.3 - The case of plants

"Maybe it's because you're not used to expressing yourself? All that cold, stoic energy -you probably have no idea how to let loose, do you?"

Astron froze for a moment, his sharp gray eyes narrowing slightly. "Not used to expressing myself?" he repeated, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. Irina smirked, oblivious to the shift in his tone. "Exactly. That's probably why your painting feels so... rigid. You're always so focused, so in control. You don't know how to just let go and be free, do you?"

Astron turned to her fully, setting his brush aside. His expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath the surface. "And you think chaotic brushstrokes are the epitome of freedom?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild. "Perhaps you should look a little closer. There's a fine line between freedom and a lack of direction."

Irina blinked, taken aback for a moment before recovering with a defiant huff. "Are you calling my painting directionless?"

"I'm saying," Astron replied evenly, his gaze steady, "that chaos without purpose is just noise. And maybe that's what you're comfortable with-noise. It hides the things you don't want to address."

For a moment, Irina was silent, the playful atmosphere turning unexpectedly charged. She opened her mouth to respond but stopped, a faint flush creeping into her cheeks. It wasn't anger or embarrassment-it was the realization that Astron, in his usual way, had seen straight through her.

"Well," she said after a moment, crossing her arms and turning away with a small pout, "you're still a terrible painter."

Astron's lips twitched faintly, his gaze steady as he glanced at Irina. "Then, how about another round?"

Irina blinked, caught off guard, but before she could reply, the small crowd gathered around them chimed in. A few children tugged at her sleeve, their eyes wide with admiration. "Miss, can you paint another one? Please?" one of them asked, their voice filled with awe.

Irina's expression softened, and she turned to the eager faces surrounding her. How could she say no to that? With a small smirk, she crossed her arms and glanced back at Astron. "Fine. One more. But don't blame me if your second one turns out even worse than the first."

"We'll see," Astron said evenly, picking up a fresh canvas as the two moved to their new spots.

This time, the energy between them was different. Astron's first stroke revealed a stark improvement, his brush gliding over the canvas with a new sense of purpose. It was clear he had taken note of his earlier mistakes, each movement deliberate yet fluid. His colors blended harmoniously, and his lines carried a confidence that had been absent before. Onlookers murmured in amazement, some even questioning whether he had been holding back during his first attempt.

"Look at him," one person said, their voice tinged with disbelief. "Is this really the same guy from before?"

"I know, right? It's like he transformed into a professional in a matter of minutes!" Irina, however, paid no attention to Astron's progress. Her focus was entirely on her own canvas. She had felt something stir within her during her first painting, a faint yet undeniable sense of guidance, and she decided to trust it this time. Her strokes were bold, her colors vibrant yet precise, as if the painting was creating itself through her hands. There was no strategy, no overthinking-just her heart poured onto the

canvas.

When they finished, the crowd around them grew even larger, murmuring with anticipation. Astron set down his brush, his second painting a clear testament to his rapid improvement. It depicted a breathtaking scene of an ethereal waterfall cascading into a serene lake under a shimmering aurora. Every detail was immaculate, from the light reflections on the water to the delicate threads of mana that danced within the aurora. It was as if the painting itself breathed serenity, flawless in its execution.

The crowd erupted into applause, many commenting in awe. "Was he holding back before?" one voice speculated. "This is like a completely different artist!"

But then, Irina stepped back, revealing her work. Gasps rippled through the onlookers, their attention snapping to her canvas.

Her painting wasn't just a picture-it was alive. It depicted a phoenix soaring through a night sky, its wings ablaze with flames that seemed to surge off the canvas. The moon loomed high above, its silver glow casting a serene contrast to the fiery intensity of the phoenix. The flames themselves flickered faintly as if imbued with a spark of life, and the phoenix's expression-its yearning, its determination-practically radiated from the painting.

"It's alive..." someone whispered, their tone reverent.

Another voice chimed in, "It's... it's more than a painting. It's an emotion."

Compared to Astron's flawless execution, Irina's painting was raw and filled with powerful, uncontainable emotion. While Astron's work was a masterpiece of skill and logical analysis of techniques, hers carried a soul, a story that resonated deeply with those who saw it.

Astron's gray eyes lingered on her painting for a moment before he nodded slightly, acknowledging the difference.

'Indeed.....'

It wasn't just a painting. The fire on the canvas-it was alive. Every ember seemed to breathe, fueled by an unyielding will, as if Irina herself had poured her very essence into the strokes. The crowd was right: it wasn't just a picture-it was an emotion, a story captured in a moment of raw brilliance.

As he examined it more closely, his mana senses stirred involuntarily, picking up faint traces of something deeper. The fire wasn't just an artistic illusion. No, it carried the unmistakable signature of Irina's Emberheart lineage. Her innate mana, her fiery will, had been infused into the painting, leaving behind a spark that made the flames come alive. This wasn't just skill; it was manifestation of her soul.

"This... this is something only she could do,' Astron thought, his expression softening as he absorbed the painting's intricacies. The phoenix, its wings outstretched as if ready to embrace the heavens, radiated the same indomitable strength that Irina carried in every step, every word. The moon above, glowing with quiet serenity, provided a stark contrast to the phoenix's fiery intensity, yet it didn't feel out of place. Instead, it grounded the painting, giving it balance, a harmony between chaos and

peace.

Astron couldn't help but acknowledge the beauty in what she had created. It wasn't something he could replicate-not because of a lack of skill but because this was uniquely Irina. This was her story, her talent. It was a part of her that even she might not yet understand fully, but it was undeniably there, waiting to bloom. 'She hasn't realized it yet,' he mused, his gaze drifting to Irina, who stood with her arms crossed, her smirk tugging at her lips as she watched the crowd's reactions. 'Her talent isn't just her swordsmanship or her strength. It's this-the ability to pour herself into something, to make it come alive.'

And yet, his eyes flickered back to the painting, drawn to the moon hanging above the phoenix. Something about it stirred him, an emotion he couldn't quite name. It wasn't just the phoenix's blazing wings or the vibrancy of the flames that moved him, but also the quiet, watchful presence of the moon.

The warmth that spread through his chest was unexpected, subtle yet undeniable as if something within the painting-something within Irina's emotions-was reaching out

to him.

'What is this feeling?' he wondered, his fingers twitching slightly since he really

couldn't understand it.

Before he could dwell on it further, Irina turned to him, her fiery gaze locking onto his. Her smirk widened, confidence radiating from her like the flames in her painting. "So," she said, tilting her head playfully. "How did I do?"

Astron blinked, momentarily thrown off by her directness, before a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He raised his hands, shaking his head slightly in quiet acknowledgment. "You did really well," he said, his voice low but sincere, carrying the

weight of his admiration.

Irina froze as she caught Astron's faint smile-subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there. It was a rare sight, one she'd only seen in fleeting moments. Yet, this time, something about it felt different. There was no teasing edge, no guarded undertone. Instead, it carried a quiet sincerity that sent an unexpected warmth spreading through her chest.

I can tell... she realized, her heart skipping slightly. He's holding back again, but this time, it's different. That smile... it's softer. Is he... proud of me?

Her cheeks flushed faintly, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Better than you?"

Astron's smile faltered for a brief moment, his sharp gray eyes narrowing slightly. But

Irina could see through it now-after all this time spent with him, she had learned to read the tiniest shifts in his expression. He wasn't annoyed; he was suppressing something, likely the faintest hint of amusement.

"Better than me," he replied evenly, though his tone carried a weight of acknowledgment that made Irina's blush deepen. His gaze, steady and calm as ever, lingered on her, almost as if he were waiting for her next move.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. I... I want to kiss him, she thought, the realization hitting her like a sudden wave. Her hazel eyes flicked to his lips, the idea growing stronger. Right now. Just once. Why can't I just-

But then, the murmurs of the crowd broke through her thoughts. The children who

had watched her paint still hovered nearby, their admiration glowing in their eyes. Around her, people whispered about her phoenix painting, comparing it to Astron's work. The realization that they were still surrounded by so many onlookers made Irina's cheeks burn even hotter.

No way, she decided, panic bubbling in her chest. Not here. Not in front of all these

people. They'd all see, and... and he'd just stare at me with that calm, unreadable face like nothing happened. No, I can't. Not now.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel, her movements brisk and deliberate. "I'm heading to the garden," she said over her shoulder, her voice pitched louder than usual, betraying her flustered state.

Astron did not say anything, as he just watched her leave.

Her feet carried her quickly away from the scene, her thoughts a jumbled mess of embarrassment and frustration. Coward, she scolded herself as she weaved through the crowd. You had the perfect moment, and you ran away. Ugh! Why do you always

do this? When she reached the edge of the Art Grove, the quiet ambiance of the garden washed over her. Mana-infused plants glowed softly under the evening light. their luminescence casting gentle shadows on the stone pathways. Irina let out a long, shaky breath, leaning against a nearby tree as she pressed a hand to her chest.

"Haaah...."

It was really important to calm down.