The huge catfish thrashed its tail, fighting like a heavy truck.
Roy recognized it at a glance—the Master of the Swamp that ruled this lake, the very one Gon would catch in the future.
That was how he convinced Mito to let him take the Hunter Exam.
Too bad there wasn't time to eat it now; and with a body that size, who knew how much muddy stink it carried—tough, fishy flesh, likely not very tasty. He reeled the Nen line back in and let it go.
"Young master, we need to hurry." The official departure was set for 3:00 p.m. It was already 2:55; who knew if they could make it.
Gotoh stamped out the fire and shouldered the bags.
Roy stayed calm. The license mattered, but so did training. Naturally—no pride, no panic—that was the way.
He smiled. "Don't rush. The boat'll be under the bridge when we get there."
With a flip of the wrist he slung the branch onto his shoulder. "Let's go."
"Yes."
They burst from the woods, cut through streets and alleys, and sprinted for Dolle Harbor where the shuttle ship Kaijinmaru was moored.
They were still a step late. A three-masted steamer chugging smoke pulled off the dock, already three kilometers out, a few minutes underway.
"Hey—wait! I'm not on board yet—please, stop…!" A few unluckies had done just what Roy did—came late and waved frantically, shouting, hoping to get the ship to turn back.
But this was a serious exam, not party tricks. Once the sails went up, they didn't come down.
"Too late. The ship won't stop. Try again next year." A pot-bellied, red-nosed old captain waddled out of the cabin, pipe in his mouth, sailor's cap on his head, skin weathered dark by the sea. He gave the shore a flat glance and looked away.
"Looks like a few kids. Don't take the Hunter's work seriously…" he thought. On deck shadows moved; several figures emerged: a blond with two bodyguards; a "weirdo" with a face full of spikes; a boy in a blue cap with a sword at his hip. As if choreographed…
By silent accord they leaned on the rail and gazed ashore. All spotted that figure with the cane blade and the branch on his shoulder…
Roy Zoldyck…
Big brother…
That guy…
You finally came…
Pariston's lip curled. He cocked his head toward the captain. "Hey~ I think we can turn back."
The weirdo looked too… so did the cap-wearing Kite, tugging his brim down.
"Heh, sorry. I'm the captain; I decide." Captain Mark Sim loosened his collar and showed a proctor's license from the Association. He pointed at the sea. "Don't like it? Jump."
He'd seen punks like this. His first mate Gus used to be one. Now he toed the line.
"Then it can't be helped," Pariston sighed, looking ashore with regret.
Annoyed as he was, he didn't forget the main event.
But the "weirdo" beside him, on hearing Mark's remark, didn't hesitate—he jumped.
Splash—water flew. The deck stared, then watched him—purple mohawk, eyes rolled white—plow through the sea for shore. They traded looks.
"What the hell, is he an idiot?"
"Jumped just like that—no exam?"
A hum rose—plenty enjoyed the spectacle. One less competitor was always good. The more idiots like that, the better.
"What do we do, young master?"
On the quay, Gotoh reached for his phone—already weighing return tickets.
Like the captain said: miss it this year, come back next. The young master was young; there'd be time.
But Roy watched the Kaijinmaru grow smaller, unmoving. He didn't look like he intended to give up.
A sea breeze whisked past.
"Zip up," Roy said suddenly. "Don't drop anything."
Gotoh stared, stunned, as Roy tossed the branch into the sea, grabbed his collar—and leapt. They landed steady on the branch.
Strangely, it sank only a hair, then bobbed back up. Roy twisted his will—and shoop—they turned into an arrow, ripping after the Kaijinmaru.
Hwaa— The waves split. A seam of water streaked from shore—scudding past the weirdo's cheek.
He'd almost reached land when his limbs seized; he nearly cramped and went under. He thrashed back to life and spun, paddling after them…
"Look! What's that?"
The water-line closed in; two tiny dots on a branch swelled into view.
A scream popped on deck. Pariston, Kite, the old captain, the bald ninja, the snake tamer, the Kurta girl—they all crowded the rail to look…
Roy, cane at his hip, hands clasped behind his back, thick black hair flying in the wind—drove the branch like a skiff, tore through the sea, and grew in their eyes…
"Heh-heh…" Pariston's shoulders shook. He couldn't hold back a laugh.
Roy Zoldyck, I… truly… truly love you. You never disappoint.
That speed. That aura. "Hey, Hill-chan—looks like you can't measure up, huh," Clark blurted.
The thin bodyguard shot him a look and gripped his cross—feeling pressure.
The boy's calm—like the sun above—made it impossible to feel jealousy.
The wind split—the branch streaked to within two hundred meters; in under a minute, they caught up…
Kite turned away from the rail and found a seat. No need to look—the result was certain.
Two hundred meters… one hundred… fifty… Under the crew's shrieks and the crowd's gapes—
the water-line kissed the hull.
This time Roy didn't need to help. Gotoh patted his satchel, sprang—and landed square on the deck.
Roy crooked a finger. The fishing-branch—slicing spray—flew into his hand.
He slung it to his shoulder.