"Let's go. We'll take the sea route," someone suddenly suggested.
All eyes lit up with hope.
This plan could dramatically reduce the risk. If they approached by sea, they'd only need to deal with the waves—avoiding the deadly cliff climb.
But the examiner shut that down immediately.
"No. You may only retrieve the scallop from this cliff. Any other method will result in disqualification."
"Are you serious?! That's impossible!" a candidate yelled, on the verge of despair.
Having reached the final stage, only a few managed to keep their cool. Some had true strength—like Shalnark. Others were simply gamblers riding on luck.
Even Shalnark himself furrowed his brows, deep in thought. Despite being a skilled Nen user, he couldn't think of an immediate solution for the sheer cliff. But as someone born in Meteor Street—a place known for producing nothing but survivors—he understood one truth: if there's a way, someone will find it. And he could learn from them.
So, he waited.
Suddenly, a middle-aged man stepped forward. Thick arms, pineapple-shaped hair, a red T-shirt stretched tight over a muscular belly, tattoos crawling across his skin—he looked like a brute forged from violence.
He slowly unsheathed two short knives from his back.
This man had passed the pirate ship test alongside Jon and was one of the rebels who led that revolt. A dual-blade fighter who had slain nine pirates—second only to Jon in that battle.
He walked to the cliff edge, looked down at the distant sea below, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Exhaling sharply, his eyes snapped open.
He jumped.
Gasps erupted. Everyone rushed to the cliff's edge, watching intently.
As he fell, the wind whistled around him. Two meters from the wall, he twisted his wrist and shouted, "Aha!"
His blade stabbed into the rock face, sparks spraying as metal bit into stone.
The cliff wasn't as hard as it looked.
"Lucky break," the man muttered with a grin.
Momentum carried him down another meter before he stabilized. He slammed his second knife into the wall, anchoring himself against the cliff face.
Then—a roar of water.
A wave surged up the cliffside and swallowed him whole.
Foam and salt burst into the air, glinting like silver shards under the sun.
As the wave receded, tension fell with it. The man had held on. Bloodied, drenched, but alive.
Quickly, he released one hand and reached diagonally downward, prying a scallop from the rock wall. He tucked it into his pocket and began climbing back up—knife by knife.
But the sky darkened.
"Aoo, aoo, aoo—!"
The strange cries drew everyone's gaze upward. Black dots swelled into shapes—giant seagulls with a wingspan three times normal size.
They dived.
The birds circled the man, then began pecking at his hands, drawing blood in seconds. One tore a strip of flesh from his arm.
"Those aren't normal birds," the examiner said with a smile. He didn't even look at the chaos behind him. "They've fed on rock scallops for generations—nutrient-rich. They're large, long-lived, and clever. Very clever. And they hate anyone who steals their food."
Snarling, the man yanked one blade free and slashed at the birds. Two fell, struck down midair.
The rest scattered—recognizing that he wasn't easy prey.
But it was too late.
"Watch out!" someone shouted.
He looked up—too slow.
A massive wave crashed down.
With only one knife still lodged in the cliff, he couldn't hold on. The water blasted him loose.
When it receded, a broken corpse lay at the bottom of the cliff.
Silence. Then motion.
Another candidate stepped up, learning from the last.
He mimicked the earlier technique but held both blades tightly. He'd even come prepared—wearing thick rubber gloves.
The seagulls came again, pecking at his hands. But the gloves held.
Then they changed tactics.
They flew to his head—and shitted on his face.
Within seconds, his face was plastered in a disgusting white sludge. Eyes blinded. Mouth sealed. He couldn't see. Couldn't speak.
The birds swooped to his legs, ripped his pant leg open, and stole the scallop.
Jon cringed. These birds were actual demons.
The man was stuck—halfway up the cliff, blinded, empty-handed, and helpless.
One of the triumphant seagulls flapped away, scallop in beak, eager to enjoy its prize.
Then—a flash of silver.
A fishing hook arced through the air and caught the bird mid-flight.
It was another candidate. He'd brought a fishing rod—just like Gon used to carry.
Yanking hard, he slammed the seagull to the ground and snatched the scallop from its stunned grasp.
"Test passed," the examiner said flatly.
Jon and Shalnark exchanged a look, eyes full of regret.
They had both planned to steal that scallop, but the examiner had been too quick to confirm the pass.
"Damn," Jon muttered. If I'd used Stone Free, I could've caught that too.
But Shalnark's mind was already spinning.
Inspired, he threw an antenna at a passing seagull and activated his puppet phone.
The seagull circled, then obediently retrieved a scallop from the cliff and returned it to Shalnark.
"Test passed."
The examiner didn't care how it was done—only that it was.
Jon considered his options.
His Ripple could influence others, but not with such complex commands.
Stone Free had the reach, but the further it stretched, the weaker it became—too weak to pry off a scallop.
He clenched his fists.
Should I use King Crimson…? Erase a few seconds and snatch a scallop mid-air?
The thought echoed in his mind, tantalizing.