Gotoh slashed the knife out of the air, then snapped a Nen bullet backhand and blasted a hooded man off his feet—lifting his number tag and pocketing it.
The young butler was thorough; this was the third he had handled.
With the tip of his shoe as a boundary, no one dared cross the line.
"Young master, there are far fewer now."
The constant beep… beep… of surrender rang out. Hundreds boarded; half a day later, half were gone.
[Nen "Morphology" +10]
With his level higher, each effort yielded less experience. Roy sat unmoving with the branch in hand, thinking ahead. Compared with Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio's cohort, this one truly was not normal.
Too harsh, too brutal—overcorrected. He couldn't guess what "Humanity's Strongest," the current Association Chairman, was thinking.
The old man with the sky-high topknot, flowing gi, wide sleeves, and a fashionable ear stud flitted through his mind—perhaps watching the exam even now.
Indeed…
Since Ging's batch, looser rules had let in a lot of dead weight. Netero, chastened, tightened them again.
In a bright training hall in a T-shirt, he toyed with a volleyball—flicked it up with his toe, caught it on his brow, moved in a smooth, martial flow.
"The exam is underway. Five entry points have gathered tens of thousands—a thousand more than last year," the bean-faced aide said, crisp in a black bow-tied suit, report in hand.
He kept sneaking glances at Zeno, who stood at the window, hands clasped, staring down—silent. He couldn't pretend the man wasn't there.
"Heh-heh… numbers aren't the issue," Netero said.
"Quality over quantity. We want elites. If no one clears, so be it."
The ball popped up, kissed the ceiling, fell—it seemed about to drop past Netero's face when a single finger rose and held it, spinning.
He cocked his head at Zeno. "Right?"
Zeno said nothing. A stubborn face rose in his mind; he chuckled. "No. Someone will pass."
Oh?
Netero's brows twitched; he flicked the ball—straight at someone's face—only for Zeno's hand to shoot out and catch it cold.
"So—finally letting your eldest take the exam?"
An old fox knows. One look at Zeno's face and Netero knew he'd guessed right.
He took the red tea the aide offered and sighed. "Shame the gatekeeper's Boto. He's not as easygoing as I am."
"Boto?" Zeno's brow arched.
The aide hurried to pour him tea too. "Botobai Gigante. Just promoted to two-star Terrorist Hunter. Conveniently free, so he's holding the final gate."
Ah, him. Zeno remembered—troublesome. He shot Netero a glance.
The old man pretended not to see. "The old codger won't let me see Zigg, so I won't let his grandson pass. Fair, no?"
Overgrown children, both of you… Zeno had nothing to say. One a hundred, the other older—and bickering like boys. As the junior, he could only be helpless. Still…
"Nothing's absolute. I won't speak for Illumi,"
"but that kid Roy—he may have a chance…"
"Oh?" Now Netero was surprised. He slanted a look. "You're saying your eldest could beat Boto?"
"I didn't say that." Zeno looked out the window. "Botobai is famously upright. If it's not counterterrorism, he won't make a real enemy of mere candidates…"
"And if he doesn't get serious—that's the chance."
The boy's dream of freedom was no empty talk. These days without Roy at home—Grandfather hadn't stopped muttering the name…
Netero paused—interested. "Heh-heh… then I'll watch closely."
Whirr…
The airship chewed the sky, drifting toward the formal exam venue.
On the Kaijinmaru, the bloodletting rolled on…
"I don't want to be a Hunter for glory—I want to see more places and uncover our history… Chief, the Kurta can't hide forever. We must join the world…" Kurta Girl ran for her life belowdecks, arms and legs slashed—remembering what she'd told her village head before leaving…
She'd never regretted choosing to take the exam—only misjudged its cruelty. As she'd said to the Captain: this batch is different!
"If you can't stand it, then surrender—don't make me kill you." The man behind her held a dagger.
Aura around the blade said it plain: nodes open, Nen awakened.
The light of the deck was close—Kurta Girl clawed up the steps without looking back. Pain flashed—another cut in her back.
Why did her weapon snap every time it met his blade? Teeth gritted, she rolled onto the deck at Gotoh's feet. "Help me…"
She wasn't a vase—she was sharp. From watching she'd seen who not to cross on this ship: first, Pariston and his two brats, mowing through people; second… Gotoh, who'd launched three Nen shots and dropped three men.
"Young master…" Gotoh glanced back. He remembered Roy's eyes lingering on the girl at the airport. Should he save her?
Roy didn't look. "Ignore it."
He lifted the branch and brought in a flying fish.
Kurta Girl bit down. "I have money!"
"If you help me, everything I have is yours…"
"How much?"
"One million…" Her voice weakened as she said it—she knew it was little; it was her entire purse.
Gotoh: "…"
What was there to say?
A million? Insulting.
He cut the knife-man a sidelong look. "Well? Aren't you going to do it?"
The man had paused from caution. Now, with "permission," he lunged, thrilled—just as a cold flash sliced his dagger in two and grazed his cheek—dousing his joy in an instant.
"What the—weren't you going to let me—?!" He wanted to spit blood. He jerked up—and saw—
The quiet fisherman suddenly stand, draw the cane—and throw a flying slash!
Target: Pariston's trio.
The cut hit Clark. In his scream, it took the hand he'd just swung at the weirdo.
Illumi blinked, turned—Roy walked forward, tossed the branch to Gotoh—and under the calm face a tidal anger surged.