Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 835 193.3 - Selene

Chapter 835 193.3 - Selene

Selene's gaze remained steady on Astron, her interest deepening with every passing second. The crowd's murmurs around them were fading into a distant hum—background noise, irrelevant.
Her true focus was on the young man before her.
As she continued to observe him, a faint pulse flickered across the corner of her vision, subtle yet distinct—a confirmation that the data was still streaming.
Her lens was working as intended.
A recent prototype from ThornTech Industries, one of her family's more discreet tech divisions, the lens wasn't just for aesthetic enhancement. It allowed real-time analysis—minute fluctuations in facial expressions, micro-adjustments in posture, variations in pulse rate and thermal output. All of it, compiled and cross-referenced against behavioral databases.
And yet, despite all of that—
Astron's readings were… frustratingly stable.
Heart rate: Unchanged.
Body temperature: Within expected range.
Pupil dilation: Minimal reaction.
Microexpressions: Suppressed.
Selene's fingers tapped idly against her forearm.
'How interesting.'
Selene's fingers curled slightly, tapping against her arm in a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
Her lens was still active—its faint digital overlay shifting subtly in her vision, confirming that the data was still streaming.
And yet, the results were... peculiar.
'Is it malfunctioning?'
The thought crossed her mind, but she immediately dismissed it.
It was a prototype, still undergoing refinements, but she had tested it enough to know that even in its early stages, it was highly functional. It worked. It had worked flawlessly against trained individuals before—picking up the smallest signs of tension, subconscious tells, even physiological shifts people weren't aware of themselves.
Yet, as it continued analyzing Astron, the results remained frustratingly... neutral.
No stress indicators.
No fluctuations beyond the ordinary.
No discernible deception patterns.
'Impossible.'
Even the most composed individuals exhibited something under direct scrutiny. A flicker of uncertainty. A micro-adjustment in their stance. A pulse shift, however minor.
But Astron?
It was like he wasn't even here.
His presence was undeniable, but his body betrayed nothing.
Selene's lips curled slightly in amusement.
'If the device isn't broken, then you're the problem.'
That made him more interesting.
Selene tilted her head slightly, watching him with growing intrigue.
"Tell me, Astron," she said smoothly, her voice soft but deliberate. "What do you think of this match?"
A simple question.
An easy probe.
The data in her lens interface shifted instantly, recalibrating as it registered any change in his vitals.
Astron, however, simply glanced toward the match for a moment before answering, his tone as unreadable as ever.
"It's predictable."
Selene hummed lightly. "Predictable how?"
Astron's gaze remained steady. "The way it's been set up. The interference. The expected outcome."
A calm, objective response.
But Selene's lens detected something—faint, almost imperceptible.
Pupil constriction: 0.02 deviation from baseline.
Breathing shift: 0.03 variance detected.
It was minuscule. Nearly undetectable. Something even the human eye wouldn't have caught.
But it was there.
'Ah.'
So he was reacting.
It wasn't that he wasn't readable. It was that his reactions were so finely muted that the average analysis wouldn't pick them up.
But Selene's lens wasn't average.
'You're suppressing them, aren't you?'
A subtle skill. Passive or deliberate? That was the question.
Selene let the conversation flow naturally, but inwardly, she had already shifted her focus.
There were several possibilities.
He had a passive skill. Something that allowed his body to maintain an unshakable calm. There were abilities that granted physiological control, lowering heart rate, reducing outward tells—it wasn't unheard of.It was subconscious. Some individuals developed this kind of control naturally—through sheer habit, experience, or necessity. If Astron had spent his life learning to avoid attention, to remain unnoticed, then it made sense that his default state was unreadable.
Let's see what you will give away more.
Selene decided to press further, just enough to see where his limits were.
Her tone remained smooth, playful, yet laced with something sharper beneath.
"You're quite perceptive," she mused. "Most people wouldn't have noticed the interference so quickly."
Astron gave the smallest shrug. "It was obvious."
No change in his expression.
But her lens caught it again—the same minute fluctuations.
Pupil movement delay: 0.04 seconds.
Grip tension adjustment: 0.02 deviation.
Small, so small.
Not much. But it was there.
'So, this is something you enjoy.'
A realization settled in her mind as she watched him, noting how despite his unreadable exterior, his body subtly responded the moment the topic turned analytical.
'You like this, don't you? Discussing things like this. Picking things apart, breaking them down piece by piece.'
It wasn't just observation. He was engaged.
And that?
That was useful.
Selene's fingers tapped lightly against her forearm, her movements lazy, but her mind already shifting strategies.
This was exactly why she used this technology.
Most people thought reading someone was about their emotions—happiness, nervousness, attraction, anger. But control wasn't about emotions. It was about knowing what stimulated the mind.
And Astron's mind?
'It sharpens when things get analytical.'
That was his weakness.
And she had just confirmed it.
"Obvious, was it?"
Selene's voice remained smooth, playful—giving no indication that she had already shifted the conversation into a tool.
Astron remained calm, unreadable as ever. "Yes."
She let the silence stretch slightly, watching him—not just his face, but the minute shifts in his body.
Her lens flickered, adjusting to his response pattern.
Heart rate: Stable.
Body temperature: Stable.
But—
Eye movement tracking: Increased pattern focus.
Minor cognitive response delay: 0.05 seconds.
Selene's lips curled.
'You're thinking more now.'
So she leaned into it.
"I wonder," Selene mused, tilting her head slightly, "how far ahead did you predict it?"
Her tone remained casual, as if this were just an idle thought. But she knew what she was doing.
People loved to talk about things they were passionate about. If Astron enjoyed breaking things down, then letting him explain his process was the best way to pull more data.
Astron hesitated.
Not visibly. Not obviously.
But the lens caught it.
Cognitive delay: 0.07 seconds.
Selene's amusement grew.
'Ah, got you.'
Not hesitation because he was caught off-guard. Hesitation because he was debating how much to say.
He was measuring his response.
And that meant he had something worth hiding.
'Let's see how much you'll give me.'
"Not far," he finally said, voice neutral.
A simple answer.
But not a denial.
Selene immediately followed up. "So, just the barriers? Or the whole setup?"
Again, she framed it casually—as if it was just conversation. But she was forcing him to choose how much information he wanted to admit.
Astron's body remained composed.
But the lens picked it up.
Pupil dilation: 0.03 deviation.
Grip relaxation variance: 0.01.
Cognitive response delay: 0.08 seconds.
It was barely there.
But barely there was still there.
Selene had long since learned that humans were predictable machines.
Even those who tried to hide, even those who thought they were unreadable—if you knew what to look for, they would always reveal something.
And Astron, for all his control, was revealing something.
Not in his words.
Not in his expressions.
But in how he thought.
'Your mind moves too quickly to completely suppress reactions.'
Most people reacted emotionally first. That was what made them readable.
But people like Astron?
They processed logically first.
Which meant the delay was the key.
Not the response itself—
But the microsecond where his mind decided what he should say.
That was the opening.
'You suppress emotion. But logic? That, you can't stop.'
And now she knew where to aim.
Selene's voice remained perfectly smooth as she continued.
"Then tell me," she said, "what part of this did you find the most predictable?"
A broad question. Intentionally vague.
It forced him to analyze before answering.
And while he analyzed,
Her lens would be watching.
Astron's gaze remained steady, unfazed by the question. If he had noticed her subtle probing, he didn't show it.
But Selene knew better.
There was a delay—not hesitation, but calculation. A 0.09-second cognitive response gap, just slightly longer than his previous ones. He was considering something.
Then, he spoke.
"Because Adrian has done this before."
Selene's fingers stilled against her arm.
"And with you here, standing against Lilia, it became obvious."
His words were calm, straightforward—no unnecessary embellishments, no attempt to mislead or deflect.
Her lens flashed briefly.
Pulse rate: Stable.
Pupil dilation: No stress indicators.
Facial tension: No deception detected.
'So you're telling the truth.'
Selene's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
She had anticipated a more intricate explanation—some unique insight, a deeper layer of reasoning that would separate him from the average observer.
But this?
This was… obvious.
She sighed inwardly.
Astron's reasoning was solid, yes. But it wasn't special.
People like Adrian were predictable to those who paid attention. His need for control, his reliance on staged scenarios, his ego-driven tactics—Selene had seen it all before. It wasn't difficult to anticipate.
And Astron?
For all his control, for all his almost-imperceptible mental calculations, he had simply followed logic.
There was no grand hidden intuition. No unseen depth to unravel.
Just casual and simple analysis. 
And people like that?
They were rare, yes. But not rare enough to keep her interest.
Selene's fingers resumed tapping idly against her forearm, a slow rhythm of fading curiosity.
'Tch. So that's all it was.'
She had expected something more—something that would set him apart. But now that she had confirmed why he was able to predict the outcome, the mystery evaporated.
She had already met people like him a lot, and his abilities didn't seem to deep either.
'Disappointing.'
She found it disappointing at best. After all, she thought he was special.
'It appears that, it was just his face.'
It seems Irina Emberheart was not that good at choosing high quality men.
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