Chris and Matt were both bounty hunters—seasoned professionals—but for this year's Hunter Exam, they served as undercover examiners. To simulate real-life danger, they went a step further than previous years: they hired an actual pirate crew.
To keep the situation from spiraling into chaos, Chris infiltrated the pirate ship days ahead of time. With his unique Nen ability, it was near impossible for anyone aboard to die without his permission.
Chris could transform bullets into fruit, disguising them with convincing effects. In one case, he had modified tomatoes to be filled with sleeping gas, ensuring realistic yet non-lethal combat. The pirates thought they were firing real rounds, but all the lethal damage was absorbed or deflected in secret.
Using faint Nen-infused writing that most examinees couldn't perceive, Chris coordinated silently with Matt. Perhaps because the aura was so subtle—or because few participants had awakened Nen—no one noticed. Even Jon, with his Ripple-enhanced senses, couldn't detect the hidden messages.
In the end, the simulation was a success. Once the pirates were subdued, Chris commandeered the ship to transport the examinees to the next venue. Throughout the voyage, he quietly took notes on each individual's performance. Those who displayed resolve and combat instinct—including Jon—advanced to the next stage.
Lindsay, unfortunately, was not among them.
"You failed," Chris had told him flatly. "You panicked in the face of real danger. Your instincts are weak. Not suitable for a hunter."
But Lindsay didn't complain. Instead, he turned to Jon with a faint smile.
"Thanks for not leaving me behind," he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm really sorry for how I acted the last few days."
Jon's face flushed slightly. Lindsay's soft smile and delicate features made him look like a girl.
"What a waste... a pretty face like that, and he's a guy," Jon thought with a sigh.
Before departing, they exchanged contact information. Lindsay didn't leave with resentment—he left with closure. Jon could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
But his peace didn't last.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder, jolting him. With King Crimson's low endurance stat, Jon couldn't afford to keep Epitaph active at all times. That momentary vulnerability left him startled.
Turning, he found a young man in a blue suit. The man looked sheepish.
"Sorry," he said. "I misjudged you during the pirate fight."
Jon recognized him as one of the loudest yappers earlier.
So he's one of those justice-obsessed types… Jon thought. He didn't dislike such people, but he also didn't want to be associated with them.
He gave a polite nod, accepted the apology, and walked off quickly before the man could talk further. People like that were always destined to offend someone—and Jon wasn't looking for extra trouble.
By the time the second round concluded, only eleven examinees remained.
Five of them, including Jon, had fought back against the pirates. The others had passed in separate examiner-led challenges. There was, however, one unusual case: Shalnark, who arrived without his examiner. No one knew what had happened to them.
Shalnark smiled at Jon when they met again. "We meet again," he said warmly. "You're really something."
His smile was innocent, but his eyes—narrowed into cheerful slits—radiated a quiet malice that made Jon's skin crawl.
Smiling eyes are always monsters, Jon reminded himself, though he returned the smile out of courtesy.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward to address the examinees. He wore a green military uniform, his skin weathered and dark, his bearing stiff and commanding.
"I am Sergei. Mercenary-class Hunter," he barked. "This next test is no child's play. If you're not ready to die, now's the time to back out."
He paused. No one moved.
"Good," Sergei said. Then, without warning: "Follow me. Keep up or you're out."
He launched forward like a fired bullet, sprinting with brutal precision.
The examinees bolted after him. Shalnark immediately surged to the front, his conditioning superior to most. Surprisingly, two other unknown participants kept pace with him. Their reactions were only slightly slower, but their sheer athleticism made up for it.
Jon, meanwhile, lagged behind. At only twelve years old, even with Ripple Breathing, his body was still developing. Compared to adult fighters, he was at a disadvantage.
Even Shalnark swam to the island, Jon thought bitterly. And I had to be ferried here after my trial? I've got a lot of work to do...
Still, Ripple had its perks. As others began to fall behind—injured, exhausted, or simply too slow—Jon's breathing steadied, and his muscles stopped aching. Ripple's regenerative properties kicked in. Slowly, Jon rose through the ranks, reaching the front of the main group.
After ninety minutes of high-speed pursuit through jungle trails, steep ridges, and muddy terrain, the group arrived at a windswept cliff overlooking the ocean.
Only eight examinees remained.
Sergei stood like a statue, arms behind his back.
"The next test begins now," he declared.
"Hey, what the hell is your problem?" one examinee shouted, red-faced. "We just ran around this entire damn island! What is this—some kind of joke?!"
Jon raised an eyebrow. This guy made it to the third stage?
Without a word, Sergei disappeared from sight.
A flash of white light.
Seven shallow cuts appeared across the protester's body, and he collapsed to the ground, shaking and soaked in his own urine.
The others froze, stunned.
Only Shalnark remained unshaken. In the Phantom Troupe, speed like that was common. Feitan would've finished the job, he thought, mildly amused. Still... this guy isn't slow.
Sergei's voice cut through the fear.
"The ones who couldn't keep up are the lucky ones. They won't die today. But for you, this is your last warning: fail the next challenge, and you will die. I will not save you."
He pointed down the cliff.
"Your target: Wave Scallops. Highly sought-after seafood. You will collect one from the rocks below."
The group peered over the edge. The cliff was nearly twenty meters high, slick and smooth from sea spray. Massive waves crashed against its base every few seconds, violently enough to stun a grown man.
The scallops clung just above the surf line, where the waves struck hardest. Below them, jagged reefs jutted out—leaping was suicide.
To reach the target, they'd need to climb down, avoid the waves, harvest the scallop, and return—all without falling, slipping, or being struck by the water.
No tools. No ropes. No safety gear.
And worst of all?
They had to do it already exhausted from the previous trial.
Jon took a long, measured breath. The mist from the waves felt cold on his cheeks.
This is it, he thought. seems a bit tricky but sorta easy for me.