The salt spray of the Yorbian Sea was a different kind of cold than the snow of Mount Sagiri. It was a wet, biting dampness that clung to the skin and tasted of brine. Leorio stood at the mahogany railing of the Sea Lark, the massive vessel that served as a preliminary filtering ground for the 287th Hunter Exam.
He was nineteen now. The year in the Demon Slayer world, combined with his previous year of brutal physical conditioning in Yucanto, had forged him into something formidable. He wore a dark, charcoal-grey trench coat over a simple black turtleneck—a look that was a far cry from the blue suit of the original timeline. His long hair was tied back in that same severe, focused bun. At his hip sat a katana. It wasn't a Nichirin blade; those were the property of the Demon Slayer Corps and he hadn't stayed for the Final Selection to receive one. This was a high-quality, custom-forged blade he had purchased in a bustling Taisho-era city before his departure—a masterpiece of steel, but ultimately a "normal" weapon.
Internal Monologue: I have to be careful. My base physical strength is already hovering near the level of a Chimera Ant soldier and stronger if he used breathing technique. If I move at full speed or use even a fraction of 'Ren', I'll blow my cover before the first phase even begins. This exam is a marathon, not a sprint. And more importantly, I need to find the core group.
The ship was crowded with hopefuls, most of whom were already eyeing each other with suspicion. Among the sea of faces, one stood out. A young man with blonde hair, wearing a traditional Kurta tabard, sat on a crate in the corner of the deck. He was engrossed in a thick, leather-bound book, his posture rigid and his eyes scanning the pages with a predatory focus.
Leorio watched him for a moment. He felt a pang of genuine sympathy—the kind of empathy a surgeon feels for a patient with a terminal, self-inflicted wound. Kurapika's heart was a furnace of vengeance, burning his own life force to ash just to see the Phantom Troupe dead.
Leorio pushed off the railing and strolled over. He moved with a deceptive, heavy grace, making sure his footsteps were audible so as not to startle the hyper-sensitive survivor.
"You really seem to enjoy that book," Leorio said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone. He didn't tower over Kurapika in a threatening way; he simply leaned against a nearby mast, looking out at the horizon. "Must be a hell of a story to keep your attention in a place like this."
Kurapika didn't look up immediately. He finished the paragraph, his thumb marking his place before he slowly raised his gaze. His eyes were a calm, deep brown—for now. "It is a philosophical treatise on the nature of law and morality," Kurapika replied coolly. "Hardly a 'story' in the traditional sense."
Leorio chuckled. "A bit heavy for a boat ride, isn't it? Most people here are sharpening knives or picking fights. It's rare to see someone sharpening their mind instead."
Kurapika closed the book, his gaze narrowing slightly as he assessed the giant standing before him. He saw the katana at Leorio's waist—a weapon that spoke of discipline—and the steady, calm hands of a man who didn't fear the ocean. "The mind is the only weapon that never blunts, provided one knows how to use it. You don't look like the typical brawler, either. Your presence is... disciplined."
"I'm a student of medicine," Leorio said, sticking to his core truth. "In my line of work, if you lose your cool, someone dies. I figured the Hunter Exam requires the same kind of steady hand."
"A doctor?" Kurapika's expression softened, if only by a fraction. "A noble pursuit. Though I suspect you didn't learn to carry a sword in medical school."
"Electives," Leorio joked, a dry wit flashing in his eyes. "You'd be surprised what you have to learn to survive the mountains of Saherta."
The conversation remained brief and professional. Kurapika wasn't ready to open up, and Leorio knew better than to push.
Three hours passed in a blur of shifting winds and rising swells. The Sea Lark eventually slowed, its massive hull cutting through the turquoise waters surrounding a lush, green landmass that looked like a giant cetacean breaching the surface.
Whale Island.
Internal Monologue: Here we go. The starting line. The boy who will change everything is about to step onto this deck. Aris Thorne died for a crime he didn't commit, but Leorio Paradinight is going to live for a future he's already read.
As the ship docked, the atmosphere on board shifted. The applicants grew restless. Many expected the exam to begin the moment they touched land. Leorio, however, remained leaning against the mast. He knew the Captain was the first "sieve" of the exam.
Then, he saw him.
A young boy, no older than twelve, was standing on the dock. He wore a green jacket, short pants, and carried a fishing rod over his shoulder. He was saying goodbye to a woman with auburn hair—Mito Freecss. The boy's energy was infectious; even from the deck, Leorio could feel the raw, untapped potential radiating off him like heat from a sun-baked stone.
Gon Freecss.
The boy practically flew onto the ship, his eyes wide with wonder. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't suspicious. He was simply curious.
Leorio watched as Gon explored the deck, eventually ending up near the railing where the Captain was observing the crowd. The storm was coming—the preliminary test of the sea.
Internal Monologue: My Hatsu, 'Gate of Otherworlds', is locked for another twenty-odd days. I have no supernatural tricks to rely on here, just my physical body and the Water Breathing I perfected on Mount Sagiri. But for this part of the exam, that's more than enough. I don't need a domain expansion to survive a hurricane; I just need to be the river.
The Anatomy of a Storm
As the ship departed Whale Island, the sky began to bruise. The clouds turned a sickly shade of violet-grey, and the wind began to howl through the rigging. Most of the applicants were already beginning to look green around the gills.
Leorio sat on the floor of the main cabin, his back against the bulkhead. He pulled his katana close, resting his hand on the scabbard. Beside him, Kurapika was still trying to read, though the swaying of the ship was making it difficult. Gon was running around, helping the crew with the sails as if the impending storm was nothing more than a brisk autumn breeze.
"You should probably stow that book," Leorio said to Kurapika as the first massive wave slammed into the side of the hull. The ship groaned, tilting at a thirty-degree angle. "It's about to get messy."
Kurapika sighed, tucking the book into his bag. "Your assessment of the weather is as accurate as your medical intuition, it seems."
The storm hit with the force of a physical blow. The cabin became a chaotic mess of sliding crates, vomiting examinees, and panicked shouting. Men who had looked like hardened killers an hour ago were now reduced to weeping heaps of misery as the ship tossed and turned in the belly of the cyclone.
Leorio didn't move. He utilized a subtle application of Total Concentration Breathing. By expanding his lungs and lowering his center of gravity through his diaphragm, he anchored himself to the floor. His tall and strong body acted like a counterweight. Every time the ship tilted, he adjusted his internal pressure, his body remaining fluid and relaxed.
Internal Monologue: Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel. Not the literal move, but the principle. Absorb the kinetic energy of the ship and redirect it through the floor. Stay soft. Stay flowing.
"Help! Someone help!"
A crate had broken loose, pinning a man's leg against the wall. Leorio was up in an instant. He didn't run; he slid across the tilting floor with the effortless balance of a skater. He reached the crate and gripped the edge.
With a grunt of effort—not even using 10% of his true strength—he heaved the heavy wooden box back into its slot. The man gasped, clutching his bruised leg.
"Compound fracture of the tibia," Leorio noted, his eyes scanning the injury with clinical precision. "Stay down. Don't try to walk or you'll shred the muscle."
He quickly tied a makeshift splint using a piece of discarded rope and a wooden slat. As he finished, he looked up to see Gon and Kurapika watching him. Gon was impressed; Kurapika was intrigued.
By the time the storm subsided, only three people in the main cabin were still standing: the tall, long-haired man with the sword, the blonde scholar, and the boy with the fishing rod.
The Captain entered the cabin, his pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked at the carnage of the failed examinees—hundreds of men incapacitated by seasickness and fear—and then at the three survivors.
"Follow me," the Captain growled.
They stood on the bridge, the sky finally clearing to a pale, washed-out blue.
"First," the Captain said, pointing his pipe at Gon. "Why do you want to be a Hunter?"
"Because my dad is a Hunter!" Gon chirped, his honesty acting like a beacon. "I want to know why being a Hunter was more important to him than staying with me!"
The Captain nodded, then looked at Kurapika.
"To reclaim the pride of my people," Kurapika said, his voice dropping an octave, a cold shadow crossing his face. "And to bring the Phantom Troupe to justice."
Finally, the Captain turned his gaze toward Leorio. The giant stood with his arms crossed, his long hair fluttering slightly in the wind. He looked like a man who had seen things much worse than a storm.
"And you, big man? You look like you're already a Hunter. Why are you here? Money? Fame?"
Leorio took a deep breath. He could have lied. He could have given a noble speech about medicine. But he remembered his promise to the original Leorio—the compensation for taking this body.
"To build a place where money isn't the gatekeeper of life," Leorio said, his voice steady and devoid of pretension. "I want the license because it provides the resources, the access, and the capital to ensure that 'poverty' is never a death sentence again. I'm going to be a doctor, and in this world, being a doctor for the poor requires the power of a Hunter."
It was a more refined version of the original Leorio's "I want money" speech, but the core was the same. He wanted the utility of wealth to serve the sanctity of life.
The Captain stayed silent for a long time, the smoke from his pipe curling into the air. "A doctor who carries a blade and stands through a hurricane. Interesting."
"I'm Gon!" the boy said, turning to Leorio and Kurapika with a wide grin as they left the bridge. "That was so cool, how you fixed that guy's leg!"
Leorio smiled, reaching out to ruffle the boy's spiky hair. "It's just a hobby, kid. I'm Leorio."
"And I am Kurapika," the blonde added, offering a small, respectful nod.
"Leorio-san, Kurapika-san! We're going to pass together, right?"
Leorio looked at the two of them. The trio was formed. The "protagonist" energy was palpable.
Internal Monologue: I have to play my part. I'm the 'adult' of the group now, more than ever. My job isn't just to pass the exam; it's to ensure these two don't break themselves before they reach their potential. Especially Kurapika. If I can use my medical knowledge and my future-sight to temper his rage, maybe he won't have to walk that path of thorns alone.
"The exam hasn't even started yet, Gon," Leorio said, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana. "But yeah. We're going to pass."
As the ship sailed toward the mainland, Leorio felt the weight of his own secret. In the back of his mind, the System remained silent, the countdown to the "Jujutsu Kaisen" world ticking away in the dark. He had a month before he could jump again, but for now, his focus was singular.
The Zaban City port was coming into view. The Kiriko, the long run through the tunnels, the encounter with Hisoka—it was all ahead of them.
Leorio looked at his hands—the steady, scarred hands of a surgeon who had mastered the breath of water. He wasn't the weak link anymore. He was the anchor.
"Stay sharp, you two," Leorio muttered as they stepped onto the docks. "The real monsters don't hide in the ocean. They wait in the dark."
The 287th Hunter Exam had officially begun, and the Doctor was in.