Chapter 106: Netero Overcorrects × Roy Draws His Blade in Fury
Gotoh slashed the knife aside in one clean motion, then snapped off a Nen round with his free hand, blasting a hooded guy off his feet and plucking the man's number tag to pocket it.
The young butler did his job with ruthless efficiency—this was the third he had handled.
With the tip of his shoe as a boundary, no one dared set a foot past it.
"Young Master, there are far fewer people now."
The steady chirp of surrender tones continued to sound. There had been hundreds at the boarding. Half a day later, half were gone.
[Nen "Form Transformation" +10]
As the level rose, the return on experience dipped. Roy sat unmoving with the branch in hand, thinking through what lay ahead. Compared with Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio's year in the original story, this phase was clearly unusual.
Too strict. Too brutal. It felt like overcorrection. What was the Hunter Association's "strongest human" thinking?
An image rose in his mind—the elder with the sky-high topknot and flowing dōgi sleeves, a fashionable ear stud like a youth's. That old man was likely watching this test from somewhere.
Just as Roy suspected—
Since Ging's year, the last few Hunter Exams had gone soft at the edges, letting too much chaff slip through. Netero, chastened, tightened everything back up.
Wearing a short-sleeve top in a bright training hall, he toyed with a volleyball. A flick off his instep, a cushion with his forehead—a smooth, flowing sequence with martial flavor.
"The Hunter Exam has started. Five entry points. Tens of thousands of candidates. Up a thousand from last year," Beans reported in a crisp suit and black bow tie, folders in hand.
From time to time, he darted glances at Zeno, who stood at the floor-to-ceiling window with hands behind his back, silent, overlooking the ground below. Zeno said nothing, but he could not be unseen.
"Hoho. More isn't a problem."
"Better none than the wrong ones. The Association wants elites. Even if no one clears, that's fine."
The ball popped up off his brow, kissed the ceiling, and dropped straight down. Just as it fell before his face, the old man braced it on one finger and let it spin.
He tilted his head at Zeno. "Right?"
Zeno didn't answer, a stubborn face surfacing in his mind. He smiled faintly. "No. Someone will pass."
Oh?
Netero's brow twitched. He flicked the ball with a finger. It sliced the air straight toward someone's face—only for Zeno's hand to slide out and catch it first.
"So, you finally let your eldest go take the exam."
Old and sharp, Netero read Zeno's expression and knew he'd guessed right.
He took the black tea Beans offered, sipped, and said lightly, "Shame the gatekeeper is Little Bo. He's nowhere near as easygoing as I am."
"Little Bo?" Zeno lifted a brow.
Beans hurried to pour him tea as well. "Botobai Gigante. He just made Two-Star Terrorist Hunter. Free at the moment—he's guarding the final phase."
Him… Zeno remembered. A handful, that one. He shot Netero a sidelong look.
The old man pretended not to see it. "If the old granddad won't let me see Zigg, then I won't let his grandson pass. Perfectly fair."
You two… old children playing at grudges. Zeno could only be exasperated. One a hundred, the other past a hundred, bickering like kids. As the junior, all he had was helplessness. Still—
"Nothing is absolute. Illumi, the old man won't vouch for."
"But that kid Roy may yet have a chance."
"Oh?" Now Netero was intrigued. He slanted Zeno a glance. "Sounds like your eldest might beat Little Bo?"
"I said no such thing." Zeno turned his back to the view. "Botobai is famously straight-laced. If it isn't counterterrorism, he'll never truly go after a handful of candidates."
"And if he doesn't take it seriously—that's the opening."
That boy's dream of "freedom" wasn't just talk. At the very least, these days, while Roy was gone from home, the old man hadn't stopped muttering his name…
Netero paused, then chuckled. "Hoho. Then this old man will watch closely."
Vrrrm.
The airship chewed the sky and drifted toward the official exam venue.
Aboard the Sea God, the bloodletting went on.
"I want to become a Hunter—to see the world and uncover our history. Chief, the Kurta can't keep hiding. We have to step into the world…"
Rika sprinted through the cabins, fleeing for her life, arms and legs cross‑hatched with cuts. The words she'd told the village chief before she left rang in her mind.
She'd never regretted choosing the Hunter Exam. She had only misjudged its cruelty. Just as she had told Mark Seam—this phase was different.
"If you can't hold out, surrender. Don't force me to truly kill you." The voice behind her belonged to a man with a dagger.
From the Nen wrapped along its edge, Rika could tell he had opened his aura nodes. This one was a Nen user.
Closer… Sunlight from the deck filtered down ahead. Rika clutched the steps and scrambled up without looking back—then cried out as another stab bit into her back.
Why did her weapon snap clean in half every time it met his dagger? Gritting her teeth, she burst onto the deck and rolled to Gotoh's feet. "Help me."
She wasn't a vase; she was sharp. She had already marked the most dangerous on the Sea God. One was Pariston and his two bodyguards, scything straight ahead and harvesting points. The other—
Gotoh, who had put three down with three Nen rounds.
"Young Master…" Gotoh glanced back at Roy. He remembered the boy had looked at this girl twice at the airport. He wavered. Should he save her?
"Leave her," Roy said without turning.
He tipped the branch and flicked another flying fish up onto the deck.
Rika bit down. "I have money."
"As long as you help me,
"You can have everything."
"How much?"
"One million…" Her voice shrank even as she said it. She knew it wasn't much, but it was everything she had.
Gotoh stared.
One million? An insult.
He simply slanted a look at the dagger man. "Well? Aren't you going to do it?"
The man had halted out of caution. Now, with permission, he lunged in delight—
Only for a cold gleam to slice through, severing his dagger. The blade skated past his cheek and snuffed his joy in an instant.
"What the hell—I thought you said I could do it?" He wanted to cough up blood. He glared up and saw the boy who had been fishing rise to his feet, draw the cane-sword, and launch a flying slash.
It lanced straight for Pariston's trio—
And took Clark's arm off in a scream, the very arm he had aimed at the freak.
The freak froze and turned. The boy strode forward with his blade. He tossed the branch to Gotoh. Beneath his calm face, fury boiled up, uncontained.