"Dong… cuckoo… cuckoo…"
1:59:59—two o'clock!
A cuckoo-faced clock slid from the ceiling above the basement corridor and chimed the start of the exam.
Clack! A crisp clap followed—Botobai brought his palms together. The sound wasn't loud, yet it rang clearly in every candidate's ears.
It wasn't Hearing Minds through Dripping Fists, but close. Roy had tasted that palm-press from Netero just this morning.
He savored Botobai's martial intent. The man hadn't reached the "zenith of the fist," but the shape of it was there—faint, yet unmistakable.
Even if not equal, it wasn't far off.
"Sir, this one's very strong." Gotoh's eyes set on Botobai.
Not just him—Kite, Kanzai, the hooded Illumi under an alias—anyone with real skill turned to the masked proctor.
The future Zodiac "Dragon," the man called closest to Netero, boomed with a drill sergeant's breath: "I'm your chief proctor this session. The exam begins—now!"
No fluff. Botobai swept the room, wasting not a second. He nodded once to Gel. She peeled back the seal on Illusion, pairing it with the faint scent of "Bewitching Cedar" in the air, and rolled Mamen Beans's Orc-men reel.
The world smeared. Sight doubled—and before anyone could react, they were dragged into the memory-game.
An endless forest of skyscraping trees unfurled. Gotoh barely got out a "Sir—" before a razor-bright axe-blaze skimmed his chest—an Orc-man!
Boar's head, daggered tusks, body rising over four meters; plated in heavy mail, twin hand-axes in its fists. Two jets of heat snorted from its nostrils—and it brought an axe down on every "outsider" who dared step into Orc lands.
"—Aaaah!"
Screams ruptured from the mouths of every mind dropped into the illusion—
Pop. The mirage shattered. In under a second, over three hundred were ejected—unable even to meet a single orcish stroke. They came back white-faced, knees gone, dumping to the floor.
"What was that thing?"
"Boar's head, man's body—gotta be a magical beast!"
Damn it—first gate and it's hell difficulty?! In a corner, Tonpa landed on his butt, sweat slick over brow and back. This wasn't his first Hunter Exam—but starting with this? Never.
He clutched his chest and hauled for air. In the reel he'd been split clean in two; his heart still hammered. He scanned around—thud… thud… thud… More bodies dropped. Less than two seconds later—50 more out.
Inside the mirage, the bald ninja Yūsuke ran for his life.
Doom… doom… doom… The ground shook. Behind him, an orc-man with twin axes came on even faster. An overhead stroke fell for his neck—
Yūsuke's soul bolted from his skin. He yanked up his last-resort trick and barked, "Conceal!"
He vanished—Cloud-Hidden style's signature stealth: drape a cloak, mirror the scene behind, shrink into the blind spot. He'd used it on missions to slit throats by surprise, and it always worked.
But the brutes were born Enhancers; their Nen use was far purer than most humans guessed. Their eyes—round and murderous—glazed in a thin Nen-membrane. Sensing the flow, the orc saw the cloak, saw through it—then—
The axe came straight down.
Nen-hardened, blood-red aura coiled the edge as it fell—
Rrrrip— The curtain split, revealing the bald ninja hewn in half.
Pop. Illusion—broken.
Four seconds. That's all Yūsuke lasted.
He traced a trembling hand from his forehead down his sternum. Pupils took a long beat to focus. Like Tonpa, he sucked wind in sobbing lungfuls—then peered around. Only five people were still on their feet.
He knew four of them: Kite; the "monster" with nails in his face; Gotoh; and Roy—calmest of all, unruffled where the other three were tight as bowstrings.
Four seconds—that was the line for ordinary people.
Up by the cuckoo clock, cameras bristled; red dots winked.
Netero and Zeno sat side-by-side on stools just inside a barbecue joint facing the venue doors, eating meat and slurping noodles. A TV over the entrance played the proctor feed. Plates stacked high between them.
"Heh-heh… four seconds in and five still standing…"
Not quite. Before he finished, another toppled—the bandaged kid.
"This batch is stronger than I gave 'em credit for," the old man muttered and took another pull of noodles.
Zeno didn't answer; he shoved meat into his mouth and kept his eyes glued to one boy with a cane-sword. Now and then, he flicked a glance at the "monster"—whose body had begun, uncontrollably, to tremble.
Ding. Inside the illusion, Illumi dropped his disguise, returning to his true face.
A boy with scattering hair, a Nen-needle clenched in his teeth, another in hand. He ghost-stepped around the twin-axe brute. His needles struck for vital points—no better than pinning steel. The brute's hardened Ken flicked them away with a shrug. Not even a pierced plate, much less flesh, and then a counterstroke—a sweeping axe—forcing Illumi back, opening distance.
"Roar!" The missed blow enraged it. "Gul'dan—aid me!"
From deep within the forest—shff—a broadblade whipped out, tracking Illumi's landing. It grazed his shoulder and took the arm, spun back into the hand of another brute—the charge-specialist Barbarian.
Illumi blanched; a flicker of pain crossed those empty eyes. He forced Gyo steady to read the tell; his pupils pinched—there, in the trees. Eyes watched. One—just falling on him—made him shiver and swallow hard.
Bigger than the two in front.
…
Same illusion, elsewhere.
"Crazy Slots—mouth spins one to nine; weapon becomes the roll!"
"I'm your man, Crazy Slots—let's pull a lucky number!" The green-hooded, red-nosed, square-mouthed clown stopped on "4."
It snapped into a shotgun. Kite took it and raked the brute with fire.
In sheer volume, Release-type Gotoh was even nastier; he'd long since burned through his coins. Ten fingers became guns, Nen-bullets pouring… to the same effect: nothing. The brute shouldered through and swung; Gotoh's chest split with a scream.
Five seconds… six… seven—pop. Gotoh blinked back to reality. His psyche held; he didn't fall. The butler's first glance was for his master.
Roy: monk-still, eyes closed; sunk into some uncanny state.
Eight seconds. Kite was pressed; a cleave took his head. He came back with a click of his tongue—no jackpot today—and scanned the floor.
Nine seconds. Illumi staggered out, fists knotted. He met Gotoh's eyes—and both turned to Roy.
Ten.
Only the blond Kanzai—and Roy—remained in the reel.
Twelve. Thirteen. Kanzai jerked awake, bellowing at Botobai and Gel: "Put me back in! I'll twist off their pig heads!"
No one obliged.
Fourteen.
Every gaze locked on Roy.
The boy's face was calm, empty of joy or grief.
And, inadvertently, he became the focus of all.
"Cross paths with Roy Zoldyck—hold nothing back."
Botobai crossed his arms. Netero's words to Mamen Beans drifted through his head. Behind the operatic mask, a spark flashed.
"Of course it's you. Last one standing."
So spoke the future Dragon.
The boy hadn't heard. In his eyes, the orc's axe came on—
And in that first step into the mirage, he had heard the panel chime.
[Detected: familiar memory-stream.]
[re: Game of the Dead—link established.]
[Gate to the Dark Continent—open.]
[Note: Host may shuttle between "Illusion" and "Cognition Sea."]
Exactly like the first time he paid his respects to Grandpa Zigg—time to bug the instance.
~~~
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