The elevator ride down into the bowels of Zaban City was a descent into a specific kind of silence. It was the silence of a pressurized chamber—one where the oxygen was thin and the tension was thick enough to be tasted.
Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio stood together as the numbers on the digital display ticked downward. 80... 90... 100 floors beneath the street level. When the heavy iron doors finally hissed open, they were met with a wave of humid air that smelled of wet concrete, stale sweat, and old machinery.
The tunnel was cavernous, stretching out into a darkness that seemed to swallow the dim overhead lights. Hundreds of people were already there, scattered in small clusters. They were the elite, the desperate, and the depraved—all waiting for the whistle to blow.
"Number 403," a small, bean-shaped man said, handing a badge to Gon.
"Number 404," he handed one to Kurapika.
"Number 405," he said, handing the final badge to Leorio.
Leorio pinned the number to his charcoal coat. He felt the weight of it—a small circle of plastic that designated him as a target as much as a contestant. His hand brushed against the hilt of his katana. He was already scanning the room, his surgeon's eyes dissecting the crowd.
Internal Monologue: There's a lot of fodder here. But there are also the professionals. I can see the way they carry their weight—the way their centers of gravity are lowered. And over there... the pressure is different.
In the distance, leaning against a damp pillar, sat a man with pale skin, vibrant pink hair, and a face painted with a teardrop and a star. Hisoka. The air around him felt ionized, like the atmosphere before a lightning strike. Even without using Gyo, Leorio could feel the sheer, predatory malice radiating off the clown.
"It's a pretty grim crowd," Kurapika noted, his eyes darting from person to person. "The atmosphere is far more oppressive than I imagined."
"Don't let it get to you," Leorio said, his voice calm and grounding. "Most of these guys are just loud dogs. It's the quiet ones you have to worry about."
"Hey there! You guys must be rookies!"
A short, stout man with a friendly, bulbous nose and a blue sweater approached them, waving a hand. He had a look of practiced joviality that set off every alarm bell in Leorio's brain.
"I'm Tonpa!" the man said, smiling widely. "This is my thirty-fifth time taking the exam, so you could say I'm a bit of a veteran. I like to help out the newcomers so they don't get eaten alive."
Internal Monologue: Tonpa. The Rookie Crusher. A man who has wasted thirty-five years of his life not to pass, but to destroy the dreams of others. In my old world, he'd be the type of administrator who sabotages a junior's research just to feel powerful. Pathetic.
"Thirty-five times?" Gon asked, his eyes wide with wonder. "Wow, you must know everything about this place!"
"I know a thing or two," Tonpa said, his eyes gleaming with a hidden malice. He began to point out various contestants, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "See those three? The Amori Brothers. They're a nightmare in team combat. And that guy over there, number 255, Cherry? He's a master of the butterfly knife. Oh, and you definitely want to stay away from number 44."
Tonpa gestured toward Hisoka. "That's Hisoka, the magician. He was disqualified last year for nearly killing an examiner. He's a complete psychopath."
Leorio watched Tonpa carefully. The man was "feeding" them information to build trust—a classic social engineering tactic. He was making himself indispensable before he moved in for the kill.
"You guys look thirsty," Tonpa said, reaching into his bag and pulling out several cans of orange juice. "A little toast to the start of the exam? On me!"
He handed a can to Gon, one to Kurapika, and finally, one to Leorio.
"Thanks, Tonpa-san!" Gon said, popping the tab.
"Wait, Gon," Leorio said. His voice wasn't loud, but it had a surgical edge that made the boy freeze.
Leorio took the can from Gon's hand and held it up to the light. He didn't need to drink it. He didn't even need to smell it. His years of pharmacological training and his enhanced senses from the Demon Slayer world allowed him to catch the faint, bitter scent of a specific chemical compound wafting from the opening.
"Something wrong, Leorio?" Tonpa asked, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second.
"This juice," Leorio said, his eyes locking onto Tonpa's. "It's a very interesting blend. Tell me, Tonpa, where do you buy juice that contains a concentrated dose of laxatives and a mild paralytic neurotoxin?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Kurapika immediately dropped his can, his eyes flashing with a cold, intellectual fury.
"What? I... I don't know what you're talking about!" Tonpa stammered, his hands beginning to shake. "It's just juice! Maybe it went bad in the heat?"
"I'm a doctor, Tonpa," Leorio said, stepping forward. He didn't draw his sword, but the sheer physical presence of his tall and strong frame—dense with the power of the Water Breathing—towered over the smaller man. "I can identify over two hundred different poisons by scent alone. This isn't 'spoiled' juice. This is a deliberate cocktail designed to induce severe dehydration and intestinal distress within thirty minutes of ingestion. Just enough time for the exam to start and for your victims to collapse in the dark."
Leorio turned his gaze to the crowd, his voice booming through the tunnel. "Hey! Everyone! If you took a drink from this man, I suggest you induce vomiting immediately. Number 16 here likes to play 'Rookie Crusher.' He's been failing for thirty-five years because he's too much of a coward to actually compete, so he spends his time poisoning the competition instead."
A ripple of anger went through the rookies who had accepted Tonpa's "gift." Several men began to move toward Tonpa with murderous intent.
"You... you freak!" Tonpa hissed, dropping the "nice guy" act. His face contorted into a mask of pure spite. "You think you're so smart? This exam will chew you up and spit you out! I'll watch you rot!"
"You won't be watching anything," Leorio said coolly. "Because from this moment on, every time I see your face, I'm going to remind everyone exactly what kind of pathetic snake you are. Now, get lost before I decide to perform a 'check-up' on your jaw."
Tonpa scrambled away, disappearing into the shadows of the tunnel, cursing under his breath.
"Thanks, Leorio-san!" Gon said, looking at the discarded can. "I thought it smelled a little funny, but I didn't want to be rude."
"In this place, Gon, 'rude' is what keeps you alive," Leorio said, ruffling the boy's hair.
The tension in the tunnel was suddenly broken by a sharp, wet thud, followed by a strangled cry of agony.
Leorio's head snapped toward the sound. Near the center of the hall, an examinee was stumbling backward, his face pale with shock. He had accidentally bumped into Hisoka while the clown was shuffling a deck of cards.
"Oh, dear," Hisoka's voice purred, smooth and dangerous as silk. "You should be more careful. You almost made me drop my hand."
The examinee didn't respond. He couldn't. He was staring down at his own arms. Or rather, where his arms used to be. Both limbs had been severed at the elbows in a flash so fast that no one had even seen the movement. The blood didn't spray immediately; the cut was so clean, so impossibly sharp, that the body's nervous system hadn't yet registered the trauma.
Then, the red fountain erupted.
The man fell to his knees, screaming, as his arms dissolved into a flurry of cherry blossom petals—an illusionary flourish Hisoka added just for the macabre beauty of it.
"I don't like being touched without permission," Hisoka said, his eyes crinkling into unsettling crescents of delight. "It makes me... moody."
The crowd surged away from the magician, creating a wide berth of terrified silence.
Internal Monologue: Shu. He used aura to harden those cards into blades thinner than a surgical scalpel. It wasn't just speed; it was perfect Nen application. If I had been ten feet closer, I could have caught the flicker of his Ren. He's a monster, plain and simple.
Leorio felt his heart rate accelerate—not from fear, but from a surge of adrenaline. As a doctor, his first instinct was to run toward the injured man. As a Hunter examinee, he knew that stepping into Hisoka's "zone" right now was a death sentence.
"Don't move, Gon," Leorio whispered, his hand firmly on the boy's shoulder. "Kurapika, stay back."
"But he's dying!" Gon whispered, his fists clenched.
"He's already dead," Leorio said, his voice hard. "Hisoka didn't just cut the arms; he cut the spirit. If we intervene now, we're the next targets. We have to wait for the examiner."
A high-pitched, mechanical trill echoed through the tunnel. At the far end, a massive stone wall began to slide upward, revealing a staircase that seemed to descend into infinity.
Standing at the top of the stairs was a man with a thin, purple mustache, no visible mouth, and a suit that looked far too formal for a cave. He held a small, purple clock in his hand.
"I apologize for the wait," the man said, his voice strangely resonant. "The application period for the 287th Hunter Exam is now closed. I am Satotz, your examiner for the First Phase."
He turned on his heel and began to walk. It was a strange, rhythmic gait—his legs moving like pistons, his torso perfectly still.
"The First Phase is very simple," Satotz called back over his shoulder. "All you have to do is follow me to the site of the Second Phase. I will not tell you how far it is, or how long it will take. You simply must keep up."
He began to pick up the pace. What started as a walk quickly became a jog, then a steady, unrelenting run.
The marathon had begun.
Internal Monologue: Here it is. The test of attrition. We're going to be running for hours, possibly days. In the original story, this was where Leorio's lack of conditioning showed. But I've spent two years preparing for this. My lungs are expanded by the Total Concentration Constant. My muscles are dense with Yorbian protein. This isn't a challenge; it's a warm-up.
"Leorio-san, are you okay?" Gon asked, running effortlessly beside him. "You're carrying a lot of gear."
"I'm fine, kid," Leorio said, his breathing shallow and rhythmic. He didn't have a single drop of sweat on his brow yet. "I could do this in my sleep."
Beside them, Kurapika was running with a steady, economical stride. "The pace is increasing. Satotz-san is testing our baseline stamina. He wants to see who burns out in the first hour."
"Then let's make sure we're not among them," Leorio said.
As the hours ticked by, the tunnel became a graveyard of failed ambitions. One by one, the weaker examinees began to lag. The sound of heavy breathing and the rhythmic slap of feet on concrete filled the space.
Leorio felt a strange sense of clarity. His surgeon's mind began to drift, analyzing the biomechanics of the runners around him.
Number 189: Excessive heel-strike. He'll have shin splints within ten miles. Number 302: Shallow breathing. Hypoxia will set in before the first climb. Number 44: Absolute perfection.
Hisoka was running near the front, his movement so fluid it looked like he was gliding on ice. He wasn't even breathing hard.
Suddenly, a loud clack-clack-clack sound echoed from behind. A boy with silver hair and a skateboard zoomed past them, looking bored out of his mind.
Killua Zoldyck.
"Hey! That's cheating!" Leorio shouted, playing his role as the indignant older man. "This is a test of endurance!"
"The examiner only said to follow him," the boy replied, looking back with a cool, blue-eyed stare. "He didn't say how."
"He's right, Leorio-san!" Gon chirped, looking at the skateboard with fascination. "Hey! How old are you?"
"Twelve," Killua said.
"Me too! I'm Gon!"
As the two boys began to chat, Leorio felt a sense of relief. The pieces were all on the board. The group was complete.
But as he looked ahead into the endless dark of the tunnel, he felt a flicker of something else. A coldness in his marrow. He knew what was coming at the end of this tunnel—the Numere Wetlands. The "Swindler's Swamp."
In the original story, that was where Leorio almost died. Where Hisoka played "Judge, Jury, and Executioner."
Leorio adjusted the strap of his suitcase and felt the weight of the katana at his side. He wasn't the same man who had been saved by Gon's fishing rod. He was a master of the Water Breathing, a Specialist with the knowledge of two worlds.
Internal Monologue: Let the clown play his games. If he tries to harvest these kids, he's going to find out that this doctor doesn't just heal. Sometimes, to save the body, you have to cut out the tumor.
He deepened his breath, the Total Concentration sending a rush of oxygenated blood to his legs. He wasn't just keeping up; he was accelerating.
"Keep your eyes open, Kurapika," Leorio said, his voice low and dangerous. "The tunnel is the easy part. The real exam starts when the lights go out."
The marathon continued, a thousand feet drumming a funeral march in the heart of the earth, while the man who had cheated death once already prepared to do it again.