The air thickened the moment Netero's hand dropped.
Bourbon moved first—no hesitation, no cautious testing like Pokkle. A single, heavy step forward and the ground seemed to shudder beneath his weight. His jab came straight for Ethan's chin—not fast, but dense with power, the kind that could snap teeth loose if it connected.
Ethan slipped left by a hair.
Bourbon adjusted instantly, pivoting into a hammer-like cross.
This guy doesn't waste motion.
Every strike was purpose-built.
Every angle tightened immediately.
Ethan brought his forearm up to deflect, the impact jolting down his bones.
Bourbon's expression didn't change.
He pressed forward.
---
A Wall of Pressure
Unlike Pokkle, who danced lightly, Bourbon fought like a slowly advancing avalanche.
Step. Strike.
Step. Strike.
Step. Strike and pressure.
Ethan kept his breathing even as he retreated a half-step at a time. He angled his body to bleed off force. Small movements. Efficient. Clean.
But Bourbon wasn't giving him the luxury of resetting.
Another blow hammered toward his ribs. Ethan blocked, redirected, and rolled under the next strike.
Gon leaned forward in the stands, eyes wide.
"He's heavy! Ethan can't trade hits with him!"
Killua's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Bourbon's built like a tank. If Ethan messes up even once, he'll eat the floor."
Netero observed from above, fingers forming a steeple. His eyes gleamed with interest—but his face remained neutral.
---
Testing the Edges
Ethan needed data.
He stepped in close—closer than Bourbon expected—and delivered a short, sharp jab to the inner bicep. A nerve point. Small, but painful.
Bourbon barely flinched.
Okay… tough nerves. High pain tolerance.
Ethan pivoted and tried a low sweep to test Bourbon's balance.
Bourbon shifted his weight and stomped, anchoring himself like a pillar.
Weight distribution is good. Very stable.
Ethan slid back, mind spinning quietly.
Bourbon exhaled. "You're quick. But speed without power won't put me down."
Ethan gave a faint smile. "Wasn't planning to put you down."
Bourbon's brow twitched. "Then what?"
"Make you choose."
---
The Shift in Strategy
Ethan changed his footwork.
Not evasive.
Not defensive.
But… redirecting.
Instead of stepping back, he stepped around.
Instead of blocking, he framed Bourbon's arms and nudged them slightly off-line.
Instead of absorbing pressure, he made it curve.
It took Bourbon a few seconds to process the shift.
Ethan was no longer resisting him—Ethan was bending him.
Not by force.
But by geometry.
Kurapika narrowed his eyes. "He's using angles. He's forcing Bourbon to rotate."
Killua grinned. "He's making the guy work twice as hard to cover the same space."
Leorio blinked rapidly. "Is that good?"
"It's genius," Killua muttered.
Ethan's movements stayed small, almost lazily economical. A sidestep became a pivot. A deflection became a guide. Bourbon's punch drifted a few degrees off course—not enough to look like a miss, but enough to weaken it.
Bourbon started to sweat.
---
Bourbon Pushes Harder
Bourbon scowled and lunged in with more aggression, trying to break the pattern. A barrage of straight punches, low kicks, and pressure steps.
This time, Ethan didn't yield ground.
He stepped in.
Close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Close enough to read the rhythm of Bourbon's breathing.
Then—tap.
A knuckle to the solar plexus.
Not hard.
Just enough to disrupt breathing.
Bourbon grunted, tightening his core.
Ethan circled.
Tap.
A heel to the outside of Bourbon's knee, shifting his stance a hair out of alignment.
Bourbon snarled. "Fight seriously!"
"I am," Ethan said calmly. "Just not your way."
The crowd murmured. Some confused. Some impressed. Some irritated that the fight wasn't a brawl.
But the experienced fighters were watching with keen interest.
Because they knew—
Ethan was dismantling Bourbon piece by piece.
---
The Breaking Point
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Twelve.
The pace stayed razor-sharp.
Bourbon's breathing was audible now. Not frantic—but taxed.
Ethan wasn't trying to overwhelm him.
He was accelerating Bourbon's fatigue curve.
Every punch Bourbon threw cost more energy because Ethan angled his hips.
Every step Bourbon took carried extra drag because Ethan forced micro-corrections.
Every shift in balance demanded more precision because Ethan disrupted his anchors.
It was combat economics.
Bourbon understood what was happening—but he couldn't stop it.
Finally, when Bourbon thrust a heavy hook—Ethan stepped into the shadow of the punch, frame-blocked the upper arm, and pressed two fingers into the clavicle gap.
Not damaging.
But controlling.
Bourbon froze on instinct.
Ethan's voice was quiet. "You're strong. But your fuel line is burning too fast."
Bourbon's breath hitched. His arms trembled—not from pain, but from sheer expenditure.
Ethan stepped back a half-step and released the hold.
"Continue," Ethan said.
It was an act of respect.
And the audience felt it.
Gon clenched his fists.
"He's giving Bourbon a fair ending."
Killua gave a small, approving smirk.
"Nice."
Kurapika exhaled softly. "He's guiding the match to a clean resolution."
Netero tapped his chin. "Interesting temperament."
---
The Surrender
Bourbon steadied himself.
He inhaled deeply.
He looked Ethan dead in the eyes.
And he understood.
He could still fight.
He could still strike.
He could still push with raw will.
But the outcome wouldn't change.
After three long breaths, Bourbon raised his hand.
"I surrender."
The arena erupted—some in shock, some in admiration, some in frustration.
Netero clapped once.
"Winner: Ethan Cross."
Ethan bowed respectfully.
Bourbon bowed back—not out of defeat, but out of acknowledgment.
"You're better than you let on," Bourbon said quietly as they walked offstage. "I hope we meet again. Seriously."
"Me too," Ethan replied.
---
Aftermath — Ripples Across the Exam
Gon nearly tackled Ethan the moment he stepped into the waiting hall.
"You were amazing! That was incredible!!"
Killua grinned sharp as a knife.
"That was clean. Surgical."
Kurapika added, "You forced the match to stay aligned with the exam's spirit. Nicely done."
Leorio shouted, "AND NO ONE GOT HOSPITALIZED THIS TIME—AMAZING!"
Ethan chuckled and wiped sweat from his forehead.
But inside—behind the calm, behind the friendly smile—he felt the faint hum of his Panel warming beneath his sleeve.
It recognized the victory.
It recognized the advancement.
It recognized the growing challenge of staying hidden.
But for now…
Ethan breathed the cool air of success.
One more match won.
One more step deeper into the Hunter Exam.
One more secret kept intact.