What Comes After Death?

Chapter 1: Information!!

Summary:

Just some info before we start

Notes:

Please if you want this to work you got to keep track of the romance points you get!! Heres Something to help!!

Chapter Text

This is going to be sort of like a game with routes, choices, paths, good ends, bad ends, etc.

I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to make things works as I post this.

I will also ask of you to keep track of your choices for this to work.

Right now I'm writing the exam arc, so this ledger is all that is available.

What Comes After Death? - Exam Arc

I recommend using it as a ledger but if you want to use it as a guide I can't stop you, but it does remove from the fun in my opinion when you do that.

Before we get started, I want to preface that while I am not up to date with either fanfic, this fic will take inspiration if not copying elements from these two fanfics. Mostly just the beginning set up, but I got to give credit where credit is largely deserved:

Search for Excalibur by kuzure_collapse

&

Hunting for a way home - Shalnark x Reader by Wanderingforest

Now some info about the fic.

Routes to Expect

12 (Base) + 7 (Duo) + 1 (Trio) = 20

Base Routes

Plot Route
Chrollo Lucilfer
Nobunaga Hazama
Feitan Portor
Machi Komacine
Hisoka Morow
Phinks Magcub
Shalnark
Shizuku Murasaki
Pakunoda
Uvogin
Illumi Zoldyck

Duo Routes

Chrollo Lucilfer and Pakunoda
Machi Komacine and Nobunaga Hazama
Nobunaga Hazama and Uvogin
Uvogin and Shalnark
Shalnark and Shizuku
Feitan Portor and Phinks Magcub
Illumi Zoldyck and Hisoka Morow

Trio Routes

- Feitan Portor & Phinks Magcub & Shalnark

The reader is afab and uses feminine pronounce, and while y/n will be used, you have an existing backstory, goals, and set nen abilities.

Talking about nen, here's an in-depth reference sheet of the reader's nen ability. You might want to pay attention to it, after all, it might decide who leaves and who dies.

Arcana Lunaris

Chapter 2: "I guess it’s safe to say I'm not getting out of here with a clean record."

Summary:

You wake in darkness, disoriented and gasping. A sharp breath pulls you from the void, but confusion floods your mind. Where are you? How did you get here? Slowly, the fog clears, and you remember: Azkaban. But why?
You shift, trying to grasp what’s happening—A sun. A voice. A shadow. Warmth... protection.
And then, years later, a memory lingers—a book. A strange one. The one Mami read from. Everything inside it is real, she says. You’re not sure you believe her, but the stories...
They’ve started to bleed into your world.
And now? There’s no escape.
Red. Cold. A fate sealed.

Notes:

Feel free to comment(aka please comment what y'all think :'] )
I also included a little black-and-white sketch if you're interested!! I try to replicate the Togashi artstyle but I'm obviously not a pro lol

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

…

Darkness.

An unimaginable, unfathomable void. Left from right, up from down—impossible to tell apart.

Just...

Darkness.

…

‘It’s time for you to wake up.’

—

"Ghh!" I suck in a sharp breath, my body jerking awake.

Where am I? How did I get here?

The questions slam into me, but the answers come quickly. My surroundings sharpen into focus.

Ah, that’s right…

I’m on an aircraft, heading toward Azkaban.

And as for why—

‘I remember now.’

—

METEOR CITY, YORBIA CONTINENT — 19 YEARS AGO

It’s so warm.

I hate it.

The air is dry… I can’t breathe properly.

…

"Waaaah! Waaah!"

My own cries echo, as they rip from my lungs; desperate and weak.

Someone, please… Can’t you hear me?

Please help me…

It hurts. The sun—it burns.

Too bright. Too hot.

I can’t— I can’t—

Everything blurs. My limbs feel weak.

I don’t want to die.

Please… Mom…

…

—

And then—

The sun is gone.

But something else is here.

Cool. Gentle. A shadow shielding me from the heat.

""

That voice… It’s not Mom…

But… it’s nice.

" "

The warmth of arms—steady, safe.

It’s strange.

But I feel safe.

…

—

METEOR CITY, YORBIA CONTINENT — 13 YEARS AGO

It’s been six years since Marguerite—Mami—took me in.

And honestly? Things have been, uh… interesting?

I mean, it’s been fun! Mami teaches me all sorts of things. Like this super cool thing called Divine Script—it’s all fancy symbols, and if you do it right, you can imbue it with Nen. I can’t do that part yet, though. Mami says it’s way too early.

But she did tell me that the trick I use to move around unnoticed is part of it. Something called… Zet? Zesty? Uzest? Zetsu! Yeah, that’s it! And apparently, it’s one of the four Nen principles. So technically, I’m already ahead of the game!

I’ve also been learning the Common Language. It’s weird, but I’m getting better at it. Mami still speaks French with me at home, but outside, I can actually talk to people now!

Oh, by the way—I know my name now. Turns out, it was embroidered on the baby blanket in the basket Mami found me in. The stitching was a little worn, but she could still read it.

‘Y/N L/N’

So yeah. I have a name.

Mornings are for studying. But after lunch, Mami always leaves. She’s usually gone all afternoon, and I know whatever she does isn’t normal work.

I asked her about it two months ago. She just brushed me off. But the look in her eyes? The way her face tensed up?

Yeah. Not normal work.

But whatever.

When she’s gone, I usually read. Lately, I’ve been obsessed with gothic literature. My favorite genre, hands down. And right now, I’m talking about it with my friends.

“Ugh, I don’t get how you can like those books, Y/N. They’re so creepy,” Bertha says, pulling a face.

“Well, they don’t scare me,” Lucy adds. “But they’re weird. Especially the vampire ones. Like, who wants to drink other people’s blood just to live? That’s just gross. Yuck.”

I huff, crossing my arms. They don’t get it.

“You guys don’t understand!”

“Yeah, we really don’t,” Lucy quips, making Bertha laugh.

“Okay, okay, but listen,” I say, holding up a finger. “It’s about the feeling you get when you read them.”

“Fear?” Bertha asks hesitantly.

“No! It’s like… you’re a princess. A princess of darkness.” I explain excitedly. “You’re strong. People underestimate you, maybe even fear you. But at the end of the day—when night falls—you’re the master of their fate.” I grin. “It’s so cool.”

Bertha and Lucy exchange a look.

“Sounds super edgy,” Lucy deadpans.

“Agreed,” Bertha nods.

“Pfft, whatever,” I say, crossing my arms. “You guys like your stuff, and I like mine. So you play accountants and laundromat employees, and I’ll be a vampire. Hissss!” I bare my teeth at them playfully.

Lucy snorts. “Hey! Accountants are cool. Plus, they make more money than any vampire could.”

“Same with laundromat employees,” Bertha chimes in shyly.

I gasp. “Have you ever considered that a vampire could easily be an accountant or a laundromat employee? That would be your definition—technically make them the coolest!”

Before they can answer, a voice calls out.

""

Mami’s voice calls from a distance.

"" I shout back, then turn to my friends. “Gotta go, see you tomorrow!”

I start running towards our apartment, waving as they call, “Bye, Y/N!”

—

As I reach our apartment, Mami greets me at the door.

""

" " I nod eagerly. " " I say the name slowly, stretching it out for emphasis. " "

Mami chuckles. ""

""

Mami laughs at that, shaking her head. " "

She ruffles my hair. " "

I grin up at her. " "

She smiles warmly. " "

Mami places a soft kiss on my forehead, then heads to the kitchen.

—

""

Mami’s voice is soft as she strokes my hair, her fingers weaving through it gently. I’m already tucked in, warm and drowsy. This is our routine—every night, after dinner, she reads to me until I fall asleep.

But the book she reads from isn’t like the others.

It’s not a normal book at all.

There’s no hardcover, no fancy illustrations—just a huge stack of papers, bound together with nothing but thin string. Mami says it’s because the original is too precious. That there’s only one real copy in the world. And when she was younger, she had to fight with everything she had to get this one.

She also told me I can’t tell anyone about it.

Not even Lucy and Bertha.

It’s so hard not to tell them—I mean, we tell each other everything! But Mami doesn’t usually ask me to keep secrets. So if she says this one is important… I know I have to listen.

The weirdest part?

Mami says this book is real. That everything written inside actually happened.

I’m not sure I believe her.

I mean, it’s got so many weird things in it—stuff that sounds more like a fairytale than real life! Monsters, hidden cities, beings who can do things no normal human should be able to do…

Sometimes, I think Mami is playing a long prank on me. That when we reach the last page, she’ll laugh and say, “Surprise! It was all fake!”

But honestly?

I don’t care.

Real or not, it’s interesting.

"" I mumble sleepily, snuggling deeper under the blanket.

Mami chuckles. ""

I nod eagerly. “Un hun.”

She clears her throat dramatically, like she’s about to perform on stage.

“Ahem.”

Then, in that deep, serious voice she always uses when reading from The Book, she begins—

“Journey to the New World, East Edition, Page 111…”

—

METEOR CITY, YORBIA CONTINENT, 12 YEARS AGO

Things had been good.

Great, even.

I was learning how to cook. I could make soup now—real soup! Mami said it wasn’t quite right yet, but I was getting better. She smiled when she ate it, so that had to mean something.

I got even better at speaking the Common Language, too. My accent was still there, but that was fine.

Me, Lucy, and Bertha got into a couple of fights with other kids. We got beat up a few times, but that was fine.

Mami started getting weaker, so she worked less. That meant we had less food. I was hungry a lot, but that was fine.

Some of my books got stolen. Even my favorite one. That wasn’t fine, but… but I told myself it was.

Because I still had Mami. I still had my friends.

That was all that mattered.

That was enough.

…

So why?

Why did she have to die?

—

SEPTEMBER 23rd, 1987 – NOON

It’s raining.

Pouring, actually. The kind of rain that soaks through your clothes in seconds, that makes the dirt heavy and sticky.

A bad day for a burial.

But the elders didn’t care. They just wanted it done. Quickly.

I watch as Mami’s body is lowered into the ground. She’s wrapped in a plain white cloth. No casket.

Just—just a body in the dirt.

…

That’s it.

That’s all.

She’s gone.

But tha-tha-that’s fine… right?

I mean—I still have Lucy. I still have Bertha.

I’ll be okay.

I have to be okay.

I’m gonna be—

…

Alone.

| Pale Skin | Tan Skin | Dark Skin

Sometimes I think I should’ve just thrown myself in the hole with her before they covered her body with dirt. Being buried alive wouldn’t be pleasant, sure, but at least I’d be with her. At least I wouldn’t be here.

Instead, I’m sitting in this tiny, rotting apartment while Claude—the asshole landlord—screams at me for being late on rent. Again.

What the hell does he expect? I’m ten. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m able to make any money at all.

Which I tell him.

Which he does not like.

“I told you, I’m only three fucking days late, okay?! May I also remind you that compared to your other tenants, I’m always under a week late? So I really don’t get why you’re so on my ass about it, Claude!” I snap, arms crossed, voice sharp. My accent is still thick—too thick.

I should’ve started losing it by now. That’s how it works, right? Kids pick up new accents fast, forget their old ones even faster. But mine won’t leave.

Maybe it’s because it’s the only thing I have left of her.

We weren’t related by blood. I never even took her last name. Not that I could—she never told me what it was.

Maybe she thought it didn’t matter. Maybe she knew she wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter.

Or maybe she wanted me to make my own name. To not be tied to hers, to not be tied to anyone.

But I want to be tied to her. Even if it’s just through an accent that refuses to leave my tongue.

I barely notice Claude’s voice anymore. It’s just background noise now, blending in with the distant shouting from the streets, the clatter of someone digging through scrap, the hum of the flickering light above me.

Some time passes before I tune back in. Claude is still pissed, still yelling, but now he looks… tired.

Annoyed, but ready to give up.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Just try to get it on time next time.”

And with that, he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him.

…

Fuck.

—

It’s a quarter past three. Me, Lucy, and Bertha had been scavenging the mountains of trash for anything valuable to sell. That’s how our afternoons usually went.

I wasn’t the only one going through it. Life had never been kind to any of us.

Lucy’s dad walked out after the divorce, and disappeared without a trace, leaving her and her mom with nothing. She confided in us once, whispering like it was a secret she wasn’t even sure she was allowed to say—that sometimes, she thought it was her fault.

That if she had been different, if she had been better, maybe he wouldn’t have left. Maybe her mom wouldn’t look so sad all the time. Me and Bertha told her she was wrong, but what did we know?

Bertha had it rough too. Her mom had caught Asher’s Lung—a disease that eats away at your body slow enough to feel every moment of it. It wasn’t impossible to cure, but the price of treatment was more than her father could ever hope to make working in a laundromat. Me and Lucy could feel her pain, that awful helplessness. Knowing someone you love is dying and being powerless to stop it.

None of us ever really talked about how shitty things were, but we all knew.

“Hey, come look at this!” Lucy’s voice cuts through the air, excitement clear.

Me and Bertha pick our way down the trash piles toward her. In front of her feet sits a boombox, surprisingly intact.

“Do you think it’s gonna be worth a lot if we sell it?” Bertha asks, tilting her head.

“Fuck yeah it will!” I exclaim, crouching to inspect it. “I read that basic models like this one usually go for 2,680 to 6,700 Jennies, but here? In Meteor City? It could easily skyrocket to 67,000 or even 268,000 Jennies if we find the right buyer.”

“Let’s gooo!” Lucy cheers, pumping her fist.

“Okay, let’s keep looking for more stuff first.” Bertha nods, the three of us returning to scavenging.

We’re just about to call it a day when—

“Excuse me, girls.”

We freeze.

The voice belongs to a woman, maybe in her late 40s or 50s, standing at the base of the trash heap. She smiles, too friendly for this city.

“What’s up? What do you want?” I say, sliding down the trash pile to stand in front of her, Lucy and Bertha at my sides.

“Well, I was wondering if you lovely girls would be interested in modeling for me,” she says, eyes gleaming. “A simple shoot that pays well. If you do good, we might hire you again.”

We exchange a glance.

We’ve been around long enough to know what this really is.

A photoshoot in this city? That’s just a fancy way of saying they want to take disgusting pictures of us.

Lucy is the first to break the silence. “Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. At all.”

“Yeah, I think we’ll be going.” Bertha’s voice is sharp.

“Yeah, bye, or wha… te… ver…”

The words slur out of my mouth as I finally notice the two men behind Lucy and Bertha. Another behind me. A cloth pressed against my mouth.

…

Darkness.

—

A sharp gasp rips through my lungs as I wake.

Where am I? How did I get here?

My body feels heavy. I try to move, but thick leather straps pin me down. I can’t see anything—something is covering my eyes. My breath comes fast and shallow, panic rising in my chest.

Then—fingers brush my forehead, and suddenly, the blindfold is gone.

The first thing I see is red.

Not just blood—though there’s plenty of that—but robes. A sea of deep crimson robes surrounding us.

I glance to my sides. Lucy and Bertha are there, strapped down just like me. So are several other kids, each tied to their own stone altars.

My stomach twists.

“Bertha! Lucy! What’s going on!?” My voice is raw, desperate. “Hey, the rest of you—do you know what’s happening!?”

“Y-Y/N…” Lucy’s voice shakes. Her eyes are glossy with fear. “They’re dead.”

My heart stops.

“You’re kidding, right? Right!?” My breath stutters as I start spiraling.

“No, she’s not! And we’re gonna die too!” Bertha cries, voice cracking into a scream.

“What do you want from us!?” I turn my fury on what I assume to be cultists, thrashing against the restraints. “LET US GO!”

One of the robed figures steps forward, wearing a dark iron crown. His presence is suffocating. “Continue.”

Three men step forward, one for each of us.

Then—pain.

Unbearable, searing pain.

It starts in my chest, spreads through my limbs like molten iron being forced into my veins. My body convulses violently, and I hear Lucy and Bertha screaming too.

“Oh great one, hear our cries.” The crowned figure raises his hands.

“We offer you these pure, awakened souls. May they satisfy your hunger. In return, grant us your strength, your wisdom, your everlasting power!”

Two more cultists step forward, each drawing a dagger from their robes.

I see it happen.

Lucy’s eyes widen as the blade plunges into her chest. Bertha chokes on a scream as hers follows. Blood spills.

“BERTHAAAAAAA! LUYYYYYYYYYY!”

Terror blinds me, but only for a second—because then I see my own executioner.

The knife descends.

A white-hot piercing sensation erupts in my chest, spreading out like fire licking at my ribs. I can feel my heartbeat faltering, my strength draining.

I can’t die like this.

Not now.

Not after everything.

I can’t.

I won’t.

I WON’T DIE!

…

—

I don’t know how long it’s been.

When I wake, the first thing I notice is the silence.

Then—the smell. The overwhelming stench of blood, thick and metallic in the air.

I touch my chest.

No wound.

My fingers shake as I look down. My hands are soaked in blood—mine, theirs, everyone’s.

And in front of me, an oval mirror.

The silver frame is cracked, but the glass is clear.

And what I see reflected there—

Blood covers every inch of my skin. My face, my clothes, my hair.

The cultists? Dead.

Lucy and Bertha?

Also dead.

Why am I the only one still alive?

The knife had been inside me. I felt it.

So why?

Why am I still breathing?

Why is my body whole while theirs are lifeless?

…

Why can’t I remember anything?

Notes:

Mami is a "slang?" or nickname you often give to your grandma in french!!

Chapter 3: "When Life Gives You Death... What the Hell Do You Do?"

Summary:

You walk through Meteor City, covered in blood, but no one stops you. It’s just another day in a place where only strength matters. Once home, you search through your mother’s belongings, trying to make sense of the strange power you’ve awakened. Was it Nen? Post-Mortem Nen? Questions flood your mind, and the need for answers drives you forward. You uncover a fragment of information that could hold the key to everything, but the journey ahead will be far from easy, pushing you into dangerous and mysterious territories.

Notes:

Feel free to comment(aka please comment what y'all think :'] )

Chapter Text

If this were anywhere else—literally anywhere but Meteor City—I bet I’d get more than just a few disinterested side-eyes while walking through town drenched in blood from head to toe.

I’d be stopped. Questioned. Asked if I needed medical help. Maybe even arrested.

But this is good ol’ shitty Meteor City, where the only thing that matters is what you can offer—what you bring to the table. Your own well-being? Your own suffering? Completely irrelevant. As long as you’re not causing trouble, no one gives a shit.

With that in mind, I dissociate and beeline home, trying to ignore the stench of dried blood clinging to my skin. I need to get this filth off of me. And I need answers.

—

Cleaned up and wrapped in fresh clothes, I start digging through Mami’s old belongings. Specifically, her books. Among them is the one I’m looking for—The Art of Will: A Comprehensive Guide to Nen.

Because what I just experienced? That was not normal.

From what I’ve been taught, those lunatic cultist pieces of shit awakened my aura nodes as part of their stupid sacrificial ceremony. But the real question isn’t why they did it—it’s what brought me back.

Was it a Hatsu? But how could I have used a Hatsu when I’d never even activated Nen before? Besides Zetsu, I never learned any of the basics. Mami did say Nen geniuses exist, but this? This is beyond extreme.

Unless… could this have been Post-Mortem Nen?

I know I didn’t want to die. I couldn’t. Not yet. Not before I put those bastards in the ground myself.

I took the time to check everybody and pull back every hood. The woman and the three men who took me, Bertha, and Lucy weren’t among them. They’re still out there. And I refuse to die until I’ve buried them six feet under.

But that’s not the only thing gnawing at me.

What the hell was that?

The moment between life and death. I can’t remember it. Not even a second of it. Not darkness, not light—just… nothing. But it’s not just that.

Ever since I woke up, I feel like I’ve forgotten something. Something that happened during the time I was dead.

What happens after death that makes you forget?

And more importantly—how the hell am I supposed to live, knowing I came back, but with no clue on how I should even exist now?

I mean, I was already aimless before I died, but now? Now that I’ve literally crawled out of my own grave? Does that make me an outsider to the system? A sinner? Am I condemned just by continuing to breathe?

Will I go to hell for living on, or will my actions still be weighed like anyone else’s?

But if that’s true… then what about the cultists?

They’re dead. And I was the one who killed them.

Am I already doomed? Or is there no heaven or hell—no divine judgment waiting for me at the end of the road? If there was a god, would he really let me and my friends suffer like we did?

I know people say "You're given only what you can handle," but tell me—is dying at ten in a fucking cultist ritual something a child is supposed to be able to handle?

Or is this just the way things are?

If so… then what does that mean for my revenge?

Should I even be seeking it?

But if your people are slaughtered, aren’t you supposed to hunt down the ones responsible?

I—I don’t know.

I don’t know what to do, what to think—what I am.

I—

I need answers.

But where the hell do I even start—?

Wait.

I abruptly stand, heart hammering, and start tearing through Mami’s books again.

And then—I see it.

"Journey to the New World: East Edition."

My fingers tremble as I pull it from the shelf.

There has to be something in here. Something—someone—that can give me the answers I need.

And if not?

Then there’s only one other place in the world where I might find them.

The undocumented rest of the Dark Continent.

—

METEOR CITY, YORBIA CONTINENT – 4 YEARS AGO

It turns out there’s a fragment of a passage in the Journey to the New East Edition that hints at a being capable of answering questions about the primordial forces of the world. A being whose existence might hold the key to unlocking the deepest mysteries of life, death, and everything in between. But, of course, the entry wasn’t exactly... complete.

It was vague, almost like a footnote in the grand scheme of things. The location? The being’s name? Any real details were completely absent. The only clue was that it was situated on the edge of the East—essentially at the border of the West territory. And, of course, the transcript clearly notes that any information regarding it would be revealed in the West Edition first entry. Just my luck, right? Always one step behind.

But while the answers I crave remain elusive, I’ve been anything but idle. For the past three years, I haven’t simply been twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the universe to provide me with answers on a silver platter. No. I’ve been training. And I mean training—really hard training. There’s always room for improvement, no matter how skilled you get, and I’ve learned that the more I push myself, the further I can go.

Thanks to Mami’s Nen guide, I’ve become proficient in all four Nen principles. I’ve mastered them, truly. The basics, the foundation of Nen manipulation, are second nature to me now. But it doesn’t stop there. I’ve delved deeper, experimenting with advanced applications of Nen that go beyond even what Mami had anticipated.

I’m not one to toot my own horn, but... turns out I’m a bit of a genius. Maybe it’s the post-mortem Nen that gave me that boost right from the get-go, or maybe it’s just the way I was born. Either way, there’s no denying it—I’m a natural when it comes to Nen.

And speaking of being born a certain way—well, it seems I’m not just any ordinary Nen user. Turns out, I’m a specialist. And that? That was a revelation in itself.

But being a specialist didn’t mean I was going to settle for just one ability. No. That wasn’t enough for me. Not by a long shot. To truly get what I want, to master the art of Nen, I needed more. I needed a set of abilities—eight, to be exact—that would give me the upper hand in most situation. After all, what good is one power when you could possess multiple, each one tailored to a specific task, a specific outcome? So, I decided to create my own arsenal of abilities, a personal set that I named Arcana Lunaris.

These eight abilities are the culmination of years of training, testing, and perfecting. Each one has its own unique function, its own set of strengths and limitations. But together, they make me something more than just a Nen user. They make me a force to be reckoned with. A specialist who’s gone beyond the basics, shaping my powers to suit my every need.

Here’s what I’ve got so far;

Le Magicien

This ability allows me to store and retrieve inanimate objects in my shadow, forming a subspace vault.
- Conditions:
  - The object must be equal to or shorter than my height and must be physically liftable.
  - Only inanimate objects can be stored—living beings and corpses cannot be stored.
  - I must be motionless, and the shadow must be unobstructed and large enough to cover the object.
  - The ability requires wearing a representation of the New Moon, and objects will decay unless stored in containers.
  - The weight I can store is limited by my strength and the current lunar phase.

Le Jugement

This ability allows me to hypnotize and control a target’s mind through direct eye contact, planting suggestions and controlling actions.
- Conditions:
  - The target must have a weaker mind or less Nen strength.
  - The hypnosis only works with direct eye contact, and the target must be calm or distracted.
  - Strong-willed targets can break free if their resistance is strong enough.
  - The hypnosis lasts for 5-10 minutes and drains my aura over time.
  - I must wear a representation of the Waning Crescent during use.

Le Chariot

This ability allows me to teleport instantly to any location I can see by merging with my shadow.
- Conditions:
  - The destination must be solid ground and within my line of sight.
  - I must remain completely motionless for 10 seconds before teleporting, and the shadow must be visible.
  - There's a brief moment of disorientation after teleporting, leaving me vulnerable for a short time.
  - I must wear a representation of the First Quarter to activate this ability.

Le Diable

This ability allows me to drain aura by biting a target and storing it for later use.
- Conditions:
  - The target must consent verbally, though manipulation or coercion is allowed to extract consent.
  - The user must wear or carry a Gibbous Moon representation when using the ability.
  - The user can only bite the same person once per lunar cycle (or day/week).
  - Aura collected will expire during a Blood Moon.
  - The aura is stored separately and must be used before a Blood Moon or if the user dies before using it, it returns to the original target.

La Mort

This ability allows the user to revive a deceased person, but only under specific conditions:
- The deceased must have been dead for no longer than 72 hours, and their body must be intact.
- Five people must offer their lives as a sacrifice, and the user must perform the ritual during a full moon while wearing a full moon representation.
- The revived individual will remain in a coma for a period equal to the time they were dead.
- Each person can only be revived five times, after which their soul is lost forever.
- Reviving someone takes a toll on the revived person’s lifespan, with the amount lost depending on how long they were dead and how many times they’ve been revived.

L'Ermite

This ability allows the user to analyze a target's health and condition by drinking their blood, but there are several restrictions:
- The blood must come from a living person and be no more than 4 hours old.
- The user must focus while drinking the blood, and distractions can cause failure.
- Foreign substances like drugs or poisons may distort the analysis, requiring more blood for clarification.
- The user must be within 4 meters of the blood or target, and there’s a cooldown period of 4 minutes before another analysis can be performed.
- The user must wear a Waxing Gibbous representation when performing the ability.

Le Pendu

This ability allows me to transfer ailments to a marked recipient (called a Katashiro), either healing myself or others by channeling blood and Nen.
- Conditions:
  - A Katashiro can only hold up to 7 ailments before the mark becomes inactive, and some ailments cannot be transferred (e.g., missing limbs or mental illnesses).
  - The recipient must consume 7ml of blood to activate healing, and blood must be consumed regularly for the ability to work.
  - The mark can be erased by a Nen exorcist, making it unusable on the target again.
  - The recipient must be alive; if they die or the mark is lost, the ability can no longer be used.
  - The user's aura is drained with each transfer, leading to potential fatigue or unconsciousness.

La Lune

This ability allows me to revive after death by siphoning the life force from those nearby through hypnosis.
- Conditions:
  - It only activates upon my death, and there must be at least one living person within 3 meters of my corpse.
  - The life force from nearby individuals is used for my revival, with the strength of their Nen affecting how efficiently this process works.
  - Targets must be able to bleed, and their Nen strength must be weaker than mine for the hypnosis to work.
  - If I die again within the same lunar cycle, the ability cannot trigger again.
  - The ability fails if enough life force isn’t gathered or if too few sacrifices are made, leading to a partial revival.

Speaking of Nen, there’s one aspect of my abilities that’s been... unexpected. A side effect, really. Every time I use Nen, my eyes—the irises, specifically—turn scarlet. At first, I thought it was just a weird quirk, but over time, I’ve realized that it’s something I can use. The sharp red hue, the intensity in my gaze, it’s almost... hypnotic. It attracts attention, a lot of it. And I’ve been monopolizing on that attention.

While it’s painful—excruciating, really—I've been using the transformation to my advantage. My eyes, when I use Nen, resemble the eyes of the Kurta Clan—a bright, intense red. And since I can’t control the change, I’ve found a way to turn it into something... profitable.

Here’s the kicker: I’ve been plucking my own eyes out, repeatedly. Each time, it feels like the world is collapsing around me, but there’s a twisted satisfaction in it. I use my ability, Le Pendu, to regrow them. Instantly. No scars. No lasting damage. The pain lingers for a while, but it’s manageable. Others, though—the ones I mark with my Nen—they won’t be so lucky. When I take their eyes, they lose them forever. But honestly? I don’t feel bad about it. These are people who’ve caused me pain, or worse, those who have harmed others.

An eye for an eye, right?

My little “eye business” has propelled me deep into the black market's inner circles. I’ve transitioned from a mere rare body part seller to a fully-fledged member of Dark Continent enthusiast forums, rubbing elbows with people who share a twisted fascination with what lies beyond the known world. I’ve learned a lot in these circles, more than I ever thought I would. Take this guy, for example—Nigg. Well, Nigg is probably not his actual name, but he goes by Nigg on the forums. He’s a lunatic, absolutely obsessed with the Dark Continent and its secrets. He’s the kind of person who posts research, theories, and sometimes—oddly personal details—on these shady black market forums. Seriously, who makes a post on a forum for Dark Continent fanatics to admit that their favorite food is a spicy sushi bowl with miso-glazed salmon, avocado, pickled ginger, edamame, and a touch of sriracha mayo? Or that they can’t sleep without a nightly cup of chamomile tea? Who does that? But, as bizarre as it all sounds, I’ve been paying attention. Thanks to him, I now know about the past five expeditions to the Dark Continent and the calamities that came back with them. The man’s been digging, and he’s unearthed a wealth of information that no one else seems to have. From research on lost civilizations to theories about the creatures that roam the Dark Continent, he’s one of the few who’s cracked open the lid on this forbidden knowledge. And somehow, his ramblings have become more than just noise to me. They’ve become a roadmap.

Through him, I’ve connected with people from all walks of life, clients who are; collectors, researchers, detectives, and occultists—each with their own piece of the puzzle. Some want advice on how to collect rare, forbidden objects from the Dark Continent; others are looking for more... esoteric consultations. But they all have one thing in common: they’re all obsessed with what lies beyond the borders of the known world.

It hasn’t been easy. The road is treacherous, filled with dangers and moral compromises. But I’ve made progress. Small steps at a time, I’ve learned to navigate this world of secrets and whispers. And despite everything I’ve had to sacrifice to get here, I can’t stop now.

But here's the truth: If I want to get closer to the answers I’m looking for, if I want to truly understand the mysteries of the Dark Continent and how they tie into my abilities, I need to meet Nigg. I need to get closer to him and extract whatever secrets he’s holding. Because something tells me that he holds the key to everything I’ve been searching for.

So, I’ll keep pushing forward, no matter what it takes. I’ll keep collecting, keep learning, and keep moving closer to my goals. But I won’t rest until I finally find a way to meet this Nigg guy. Until then, I’ll stay in the shadows, gather what I can, and wait for the perfect moment.

I know I’m getting closer. I can feel it.

—

METEOR CITY, YORBIA CONTINENT – 1 YEAR AGO

Fuck me.

Three years. Three years spent obsessively tracking down one person, and all I’ve managed to figure out is that his name isn’t “Nigg,” but Ging. Beyond that, everything is a damn wall of silence. Information that could possibly explain who he is, what he’s done, or what he’s capable of is locked behind the Hunter website. Even when you do manage to get past the front gate, everything else is locked behind layers of codes—cryptic and impossible to crack unless you’ve got the right access.

I’ll admit it, I’m frustrated. Beyond frustrated. I’ve been banging my head against this wall for three years, and all I have to show for it is the barest of details. So, I’ve decided to put my investigation on hold for the moment. There’s no point in chasing shadows, especially when I’m not even close to breaking through.

During these last few months, I’ve been traveling—a lot. It’s a strange kind of freedom, a break from the dead-end that my life has become in my obsessive pursuit. But I haven’t been entirely idle. I’ve been using this time to experiment with my Nen abilities. Testing their limits. Pushing them in ways that should’ve been impossible. And, God, has it been frustrating.

Especially La Mort. That ability, the one that allows me to revive the dead, is proving to be more of a curse than a blessing. Every person I bring back ends up just like I was when I returned from the dead—confused, lost like they’ve forgotten something vital. They don’t remember anything of the beyond, not a void, not heaven or hell, nothing. It’s not just disturbing—it’s downright crushing.

I can’t understand it. Why does it happen? Why does it always end this way? Are they even truly revived? It’s a question I don’t have an answer to. And the more I experiment, the more the haunting sensation of losing something weighs on me. I don’t know if I’m ready to keep facing it, but I can’t stop. Not yet.

The next step in my research will require me to do something I’ve been avoiding for a while: get a Hunter license. To access the real, raw information about the Dark Continent, to make actual progress in my investigation, I’ll need that license. It’s not just about legitimacy—it’s about access. About being able to unlock doors that would otherwise remain closed forever. I’ve been holding off on it for too long, but it’s clear now. There’s no avoiding it.

So, I’ll train. I’ll put in the work and the time. I’ll get my license next year, and then… then I’ll push forward, no matter what it takes.

But for now, it feels like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into an abyss I’m not sure I can survive. Will the answers I seek even be worth it? Will I be able to handle what comes next? I don’t know. But I do know one thing: I’ll never stop searching. The answers are out there.

I just have to be the one to find them.

—

METEOR CITY, YORBIA CONTINENT – 11 DAYS AGO, DECEMBER 26

The air was thick with the scent of burning metal and old plastic, the ever-present perfume of Meteor City. Even after all these years, I never quite got used to it—not entirely. Maybe it was because I knew I’d be leaving soon. Maybe it was because this place, for all its memories, never really felt like home.

I zipped up the last of my bags, checking their weight in my hands. Everything I needed was packed. Everything I could take with me, at least. The journey ahead was going to be long: seven grueling days of land travel just to reach Lingon Airport, followed by three and a half days of air travel to finally arrive in Azkaban City, Kukan’yu Kingdom. If everything went according to schedule, I’d check into my hotel by January 6th, just in time to settle in before the Hunter Exam.

I glanced at my watch. Time to go. With one last look at the place I was leaving behind, I stepped forward, never once looking back.

—

AZKABAN CITY, KUKAN’YU KINGDOM – PRESENT

It’s 11:45 AM, and I’m watching the world shrink below me. Azkaban is finally within reach. My flight is scheduled to land in 15 minutes, and I can already feel the hum of descent beneath my feet.

As soon as the aircraft touches down, I waste no time. I grab my bag and slip past the sluggish travelers, moving through the sea of people with ease. A cab is waiting outside, and in 20 minutes, I’m stepping into the lobby of my hotel. The check-in process is smooth, and within moments, I’m in my room, tossing my bags onto the bed.

But I don’t linger. My stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten anything decent since before the flight, so I step back out, letting the city swallow me whole.

—

The café I found was small, nestled between towering buildings, its windows glowing with warm golden light. It had that cozy charm that made it feel almost out of place in a city like this.

I took a seat by the window, scanning the menu with idle curiosity. It was full of colorful images of gourmet sandwiches—smoked salmon and dill on rye, roast beef and caramelized onions on sourdough, brie and fig jam on ciabatta—alongside an array of classic café fare: buttery croissants, savory quiches, cheese platters, fresh fruit tarts, creamy soups, artisan salads, and handmade pastries. The drink section was just as extensive—single-origin coffees, flavored lattes, herbal and black teas, and even a selection of fine liquors for those looking to add a little extra warmth to their day.

A waitress soon approached my table, wearing a neatly pressed black and white uniform, her auburn hair tied into a low ponytail, her hazel eyes bright. She held a small notepad, ready to take my order.

"What can I get for you?" she asked with a polite smile.

I returned the smile and pointed to one of the options on the menu. "I’ll take one of these, please."

She jotted it down quickly before looking up. "And for drinks?"

"Mmh, let me think…" I tapped my fingers lightly against the wooden table before deciding. "Ah, I’ll take the house special. Thank you very much."

With a nod, she noted it down and disappeared behind the counter.

Fifteen minutes later, my food arrived—beautifully plated, fresh, and delicious. The meal was satisfying, a welcome reprieve after days of travel. But even as I ate, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Someone was watching me.

—

It was subtle at first—an itch at the back of my mind, a shift in the air around me. I’ve honed my senses over the years, sharpened them like a blade. I know when I’m being observed.

As I stood to leave, I let my gaze flicker toward the source of the piercing stare, just for a split second. And there he was.

A young man sat a few tables away, his blond hair almost too perfect, catching the light just right. His green eyes were sharp, locked onto me with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. He had the kind of face that could be mistaken for innocence—boyishly good-looking, almost angelic—but the way he carried himself, the way his cashmere crew-neck sweater stretched over a well-built frame, told a different story.

I had no idea why he was looking at me so intently. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was all in my head. But no—after everything I’ve been through, after years of refining my instincts, I knew when someone was watching me.

The question was… why?

In the end, though, it didn’t matter. I had more important things to focus on.

Without another glance, I stepped out of the café and back into the bustling streets of Azkaban City, the weight of unseen eyes still lingering on my back.

—

The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the bustling Azkaban flea market, its air thick with the mingling scents of spiced meats, roasted nuts, and something fried that I couldn’t quite place. Stalls lined the narrow pathways, overflowing with local delicacies, trinkets meant to lure in unsuspecting tourists, and an odd mix of both real and counterfeit jewelry. Among the crowd, self-proclaimed fortune tellers sat on woven rugs, offering readings with no trace of Nen—just cheap parlor tricks and well-practiced deception.

As I walked, my gaze flickered over rows of worn books stacked haphazardly on a street-side vendor’s table. Most of them were guides on local folklore, historical accounts of the surrounding regions, or poorly written collections of urban legends.

But then, something caught my eye.

"Swindler Swamp Delicacies, huh?" I muttered, pulling the book from the pile. The title was printed in bold, golden letters, the cover depicting an eerie, misty marshland. Swindler Swamp wasn’t far from here. I wondered if it was worth picking up…

A. Buy the book

B. Don’t buy the book

Chapter 4: "Steak 'Em If You Got 'Em" - Path of Literature

Summary:

You choose to buy the book, where you begin your journey to the Hunter Exam. After a brief encounter with an intriguing stranger at a café, you make your way to a rundown restaurant in Zaban City. Inside, you use a password to access a hidden elevator, which leads you to a mysterious underground area. Tension builds as other applicants prepare for the exam, each of you awaiting the challenges that lie ahead.

Notes:

Feel free to comment(aka please comment what y'all think :'] )
Please if you want this to work you got to keep track of the romance points you get!! Heres Something to help!!

Chapter Text

"Sure, why not?" It wasn’t expensive, and at worst, I could just give it away if it ended up being useless. Without another thought, I handed the vendor a few bills, slipping the book discreetly into my shadow storage before continuing my stroll.

—

I let my thoughts wander as I walked, weaving through the crowd, half-distracted by the overlapping voices of merchants and customers haggling over prices. Then—

Thud.

I collided into something—or rather, someone.

Instinctively, I took a step back, my mind catching up to what had just happened. I was in the middle of the walkway, meaning whoever I bumped into had to be the one who wasn’t watching where they were going. But judging by how solid they felt… damn, they must have been built like a brick wall.

I sighed, already preparing to apologize before they made a big deal out of it. But then, my eyes landed on him.

The angelic-looking creep from the café.

Alright, maybe “creep” was a bit much, but let’s be real—he definitely wasn’t giving me innocent looks back at that café. Even without making direct eye contact, I felt his stare the entire time I was there, like he was trying to trap me in some unspoken game of cat and mouse.

And now, here he was, standing right in front of me.

Next to him stood a much shorter figure, almost childlike, with long, silvery-white hair that covered most of their face, save for a single dull grey eye peeking through the strands. They held a thick stack of papers, though some had slipped from their grasp, now scattered on the ground between us.

That wasn’t the only thing that had fallen.

Among the papers lay a small, ornate pin, shaped like a bat’s wing, tinged in soft hues of pink. It was striking—not overly flashy, but something about it held a certain allure. Pretty.

My fingers twitched.

As I crouched down, I gathered the fallen papers in one hand… and with the other, I slid the pin into my sleeve, smooth as second nature.

Would they miss it? Maybe. Would they get it back? Absolutely not.

Was stealing bad? Yes. But did he deserve it for making me uncomfortable with that intense, one-sided staring contest earlier? Also yes. Or at least, that was the excuse I gave myself.

Maybe I was just a bit of a klepto.

Even as a kid, Lucy and Bertha used to call me a harpy because of my obsession with shiny things. I’d chase after anything that caught the light, to the point where I’d turn around just to make sure a candy wrapper on the ground was actually a candy wrapper. I’d collect plastic holographic threads from pompoms, random beads, elastic bands—all under the guise of using them for “arts and crafts.”

Was it just the environment I grew up in—Meteor City—that made me this way? Or was it simply part of my nature?

Didn’t matter.

I stacked the papers neatly and handed them over to the blond guy.

"Here. And I do apologize for bumping into you." And for stealing your pin. Not that you’ll notice.

The blond smiled, accepting the papers. "Oh, thank you so much! And don’t worry about it! Oh, and… have we met before?"

I kept my expression neutral, the perfect balance of polite and dismissive. "I don’t think we have." A fake but friendly smile curled on my lips—convincing enough for the untrained eye.

"Oh, really?" His voice was laced with amusement. "Because I feel like I’ve seen you before. And I’d never forget someone with a look like yours."

He leaned in slightly, that same sly smile from earlier creeping onto his face.

Oh, he’s testing me.

He knew I noticed his staring back at the café. Hell, he probably wanted me to notice. And now, he was pushing to see how I’d react.

The nerve.

I needed to get out of this conversation.

A. Politely excuse yourself

"I’m sorry, sir, but I currently have a prior engagement, so I’ll have to cut our chat short." My voice was perfectly measured, an apologetic smile on my face as I gave a slight bow.

"Oh, that’s too bad… but wait, can I have your number? I’d love to talk more—?" He pouted, the playful edge still present in his tone.

"Y/N." I gave him my name but nothing else. "And as lovely as that sounds, my last phone broke, so I wouldn’t have anything for you to call me on. Again, my apologies, but I must leave."

"Oh, alright. But at least take this."

Before I could refuse, he ripped a page from the stack, scribbled something down, and handed it to me.

"Here, it’s my email. You can contact me if you need help picking out a new phone. I’m kind of a tech whiz."

I sighed, accepting the paper with a nod. "Thank you, sir, but really—"

"Shalnark."

"Hmm?"

"My name. It’s Shalnark. And don’t forget it." He tilted his head, grinning.

"Alright… Thank you, Shalnark."

"No problem at all!"

With that, I turned on my heel and walked away.

"Bye-bye, Y/N~"

You just gained +3 romance point for Shalnark!

B. Backhanded Flirty Compliment Your Way Out

I let out a soft sigh, tilting my head slightly as I met his unwavering gaze. His green eyes really were striking—almost annoyingly so. But I had better things to do than get caught up in whatever this was.

"Sorry, Green Eyes, as much as I'd love to get lost in those beautiful jade pools of yours, I actually have somewhere important to be," I said, my voice dripping with just enough faux regret to make it sting.

With that, I turned on my heel, offering him a slow, exaggerated princess wave as I walked away, the very picture of casual indifference. I didn’t bother looking back—I didn’t need to.

Would I ever see him again? No idea. But if I did, I sure hoped he'd be way less annoying.

You just gained +5 romance points for Shalnark!

C. Rudely Leave

I blinked at him, unimpressed. Wow, he really thought I had the time for this?

"Okay. Cool. Bye."

That was it. No drawn-out response. No witty banter. Just a flat, dismissive tone as I turned on my heel and walked away before he could get another word in. Not once did I glance back—not even out of curiosity.

Would I ever see that guy again? Who knows. But if I did, I could only hope he'd learned to be way less irritating.

You just gained -3 romance points for Shalnark!

—

By the time I made it back to my hotel, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting a warm orange glow over the city.

According to a tip from some acquaintances, this year’s Hunter Exam was being held in Zaban City. The entrance was through a rundown restaurant on Flower Street, where you had to give the chef a code to access the exam site. That restaurant was about 35 minutes away, so I figured I’d wake up early to register as soon as possible.

By 9:00 PM, I was eating at the hotel’s buffet. By 11:00 PM, I was fast asleep.

Tomorrow, the real challenge would begin.

ZABAN CITY, KUKAN’YU KINGDOM – 3 AM, JANUARY 7

It’s 3 AM, and there I am, standing in front of the restaurant where the Hunter Exam is supposed to take place. My acquaintance wasn’t joking when they told me it would be a bit on the run-down side—this place looked like it had seen better days. But who am I to judge? The place I call home in Meteor City sure as hell isn’t some top-class establishment either.

Still, I don’t let the shabby appearance deter me. The Hunter Exam waits for no one. I push open the door and step inside, immediately greeted by the smell of something… a bit more pungent than what I expected. There’s a chef behind the counter, dishing out food to a pair of drunkards who seem to be making more noise than anything else in the room.

One of them, a burly man with a red face, is complaining loudly.

"My wife! My damn wife! She doesn’t get it!" The man slurs, pounding his fist onto the counter. "I work my ass off all day, and she complains about what?!”

His companion, a skinny guy with a scruffy beard, chimes in with a laugh.

"Work?! What work? I'm just tryin' to get through the damn day, man. My boss don’t even know how to do his own job!" The second drunk laughs again, clearly amused by his own words.

I ignore them, though. Their complaints don’t concern me. My focus is on the chef, who seems to have noticed my presence. His eyes narrow in recognition, and for a moment, I can tell he’s figuring me out.

I clear my throat and approach the counter.

"Excuse me, I’d like the steak combo, please—the one that'll make me see the light," I say, repeating the first part of the password.

The chef’s eyes flicker with recognition, and I see a flash of understanding in his gaze. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Combo for one, huh? How do you want it cooked?" he asks, his voice low and steady, clearly aware of what’s going on now.

I don’t hesitate. "Grilled slowly over a low flame until done, please."

He nods, satisfied with my response. "Got it. See yourself to the back room," he says, his tone clipped and professional.

I don’t need to be told twice. I turn and head toward the back, pushing open a door that leads into what I can only describe as a hidden area.

The moment the door shuts behind me, the air seems to shift—the room descends.

“An elevator, huh?” I mutter to myself, realizing where this is headed.

The elevator ride feels like it takes longer than it should, though the steady clunk of the mechanism lets me know it’s working. When the doors finally open, I’m met with a long greenish tunnel, the walls lined with red lights and thick pipes snaking along the sides. The tunnel feels eerie, almost like something out of a dystopian nightmare, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be impressed or unsettled.

As I move forward, I notice a few other applicants already waiting, some chatting quietly, others lost in their own thoughts. My gaze lands on a man who seems to be made entirely of green—his skin is the color of edamame, and his head is perfectly round, almost like a bean itself.

“Edamame bean…?” I think to myself, trying to place the thought. Where had I heard that before?

Before I can dwell on it, the green man approaches me, a polite smile on his face as he holds out a small white badge.

"Hello, please take your number badge. Thank you," he says in a monotone voice, handing me a circular badge with the number #77 printed in black font.

I take it, feeling the slight weight of it in my hand.

"Be sure to wear it on your person at all times and not to lose it, okay?" he adds, his gaze sharp, as if he’s seen this all a hundred times before.

"Yes, thank you," I reply, slipping the badge into my jacket pocket.

With that, the man turns away, and I find myself standing in the tunnel, waiting.

The quiet tension in the air is almost palpable. Some of the other applicants seem nervous, a few pacing back and forth, while others stand still, trying to calm their racing hearts. It’s clear that everyone here is on edge. I join them in waiting, the long minutes stretching on as we all prepare for whatever comes next.

And for the moment, it seems that’s all there is to do—wait.

...

ZABAN CITY, KUKAN’YU KINGDOM – 5 AM, JANUARY 7

I thought Blondie had a gaze that could make the average person cower, but even he has nothing on this guy—Applicant #44. From the moment I stepped into the exam area, his eyes have been fixed on me with a look that is far more than simple scrutiny. He isn’t just sizing up the competition. No, there’s something dangerous about it. Something malicious. Evil.

I guess you could say he has a killer look. heh… heh... Yeah, that doesn’t make it any better

But as much as I’d like to focus—*not!—*on the unsettling eyes boring into my back, I have another problem—one significantly less terrifying, but much more annoying. A fat little man has been talking my ear off for the past few minutes, forcibly demanding my attention. He’s got tan skin, brown hair, a large nose, and thick eyebrows. His outfit consists of a loose blue v-neck shirt with a white symbol resembling a lowercase "i" on the right side, paired with matching light blue-gray sweatpants. A satchel is slung over his shoulder, bouncing with every exaggerated gesture he makes.

And gods, he just keeps talking.

I can almost smell the fakeness wafting off of him—if that’s even possible. But even without my metaphorical nose picking up on it, his synthetic smile and overly friendly demeanor are dead giveaways.

“But pardon me for saying so,” he begins, his grin widening as he looks me up and down, “but it’s quite surprising to see such a darling girl making it this far. I doubt the exam will be as kind to you as finding it was, however.”

Ah. Profiling me already? How delightful.

*"*You don’t say," I reply, my expression blank. My poker face is second nature at this point.

But maybe… just maybe... he could be useful.

"Say, Tonpa? That was your name, right?" I ask, feigning uncertainty. *"*Sorry for the hesitation—I’m not great with names." Or, more accurately, I just don’t care about his. "But you mentioned you’ve taken the exam quite a few times before, didn’t you?"

His chest puffs up with a mix of pride and embarrassment. *"*Oh yes, this is my 35th attempt straight! I guess you could call me an exam veteran."

“Impressive.” My tone is neutral, but inwardly, I scoff. Thirty-five attempts? Either he’s an idiot or a liar. "Oh, well then, my wise and all-knowing exam veteran," I say smoothly, lacing my words with an artificial sweetness, *"*by chance, do you know any of the other applicants here? Maybe you’ve encountered some of them in previous exams? After all, they do say that the rookie pass rate is once every three years, and statistically, only 1 in 10,000 applicants even make it to the main exam. So it would stand to reason that a few of the faces here are… recurring."

Tonpa grins, clearly pleased with the bait. "Oh, absolutely! There are quite a few returning faces. Let’s see…"

He scans the room before pointing at a man draped in a light blue and purple robe with a tan turban wrapped around his head. His large nose makes him even easier to spot in the crowd.

"Applicant #103—Bourbon the Snake Charmer. One tenacious competitor! But if you get on his bad side, well… let’s just say you won’t be getting off."

Charming.

I follow his finger as he moves on to his next target—a large man sitting cross-legged on the ground, scarfing down food. He has slicked-back hair ending in a ponytail, the sides of his head shaved. His outfit is more functional: a jumper, boots, trousers, and knee pads. He looks like a brute—but I know better than to judge based on appearances.

"Then there’s Applicant #255—Todo the Wrestler. Strong as an ox, but don’t let his appearance fool you. He’s a lot smarter than he looks."

The next introduction is a muscular, elderly man with a mustache and long gray hair tied into a ponytail. His traditional martial arts robes give him an air of discipline and experience, confirming what Tonpa says next.

"Applicant #191—Bodoro. A kung fu master. He may be getting up there in age, but don’t let that fool you. He’s still one of the best martial artists in this exam."

I raise an eyebrow at that but say nothing as Tonpa continues.

"And speaking of martial artists, there’s Applicant #76—Cherry. In terms of unarmed combat, he’s definitely among the top contenders."

My gaze lands on a man with a flat-top haircut and piercing eyes, his face accentuated by a droopy nose. He wears martial arts attire, his stance exuding quiet confidence.

Tonpa then gestures toward a trio. "The Amori Brothers—Applicants #197 to #199. They specialize in teamwork, and they only get better at it each year."

I observe the three of them, taking note of their distinct appearances and outfits.

"And finally," Tonpa says, nodding toward a man with an Afro puff and black eyes, wearing sunglasses and a unique layered outfit. *"*Applicant #384—Geretta the Huntsman. A specialist in silent kills, skilled with blow darts and a club."

I plaster a polite, fake smile on my face. "Is that all?"

“Well, that’s basically—” Tonpa hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “Well… there is one more.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, tilting my head in curiosity as this catches my interest.

Tonpa sighs. “I’d rather not talk about it, but… Applicant #44, Hisoka the Magician.”

I glance back toward the man who’s been staring me down. The Magician, huh? He looks more like a creepy clown to me. Though I’ll admit… beneath that ridiculous getup, he does have a nice face. If he dressed normally, I might even call him handsome. Might

Tonpa’s voice lowers. "He isn’t one of the veterans, but last year, he was practically a shoo-in.” Tonpa continues. “That is, until he attacked an examiner he didn’t… approve of. Got himself disqualified. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’d do well to steer clear of him. Trust me.”

I place a hand over my chest, offering him a sweet, innocent smile. “I’ll take that to heart.” Of course, I was already planning on doing just that. No matter how much ‘looks potential’ that clown has, I’m not risking my life for something like that… That’d be a waste of Nen, after all. Hehehe...

Tonpa suddenly brightens and claps his hands together. “Oh! Before I forget—why don’t we toast to good luck and friendship?” With a grin he rummages through his satchel, pulling out two juice cans—one for himself, one presumably for me.

His movements are casual, almost rehearsed as if he’s done this a thousand times before. I glance down at the offered can for only a moment before meeting his gaze, my expression unreadable but my eyes looking deep into his.

I suppress a smirk, gently pushing his offering away with the tip of my finger.

“I’ll have to apologize, darling—” I emphasize the word mockingly, throwing his own phrasing back at him, “—but if it’s not Château Margaux or Cheval Blanc, I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

His grin falters, just for a split second, but he recovers quickly. He chuckles, playing it off like it’s no big deal, but I can see it in his eyes—mild irritation, maybe even a hint of amusement at my arrogance.

Regardless, I turn on my heel and step away before he can insist. I weave through the crowd of applicants, finding myself a quiet spot to sit. With a flick of my fingers, I subtly retrieve a novel from the depths of my shadow, flipping it open without missing a beat, letting the world around me blur into white noise.

‘There is no doubt, it was definitely poisoned.’ I think back one last time on the juice, chuckling to myself.

Nice try, Tonpa.

—

The exam is set to begin any minute now. The air is thick with tension, a blend of excitement and unease. Murmurs ripple through the tunnel as applicants size each other up, whispering strategies, and gauging threats. Tonpa, ever the opportunist, is already weaving his way through the crowd, delivering what I learned to be his usual spiel to the latest batch of rookies. Fake friendliness. Insider tips. The illusion of camaraderie. I can’t hear every word, but I know how the script goes.

And then—

“GAAH!”

A sharp, gut-wrenching scream splits the air. The tunnel falls silent. Heads snap toward the source of the noise mine included.

A man is on his knees, his face twisted in agony and shock. Blood pools beneath him. His forearms—gone. Cleanly severed, like they were never there to begin with. And of course, looming over him is applicant #44—draped in an unsettling aura—tilting his head slightly, as if admiring his handiwork.

A sickeningly amused smile crept onto his face.

“Behold. ♡”

His voice is unnervingly calm and eerily soft, almost playful. He extends his hands as if presenting some kind of magic trick.

“Now you see them, now you don’t. No tricks involved. ♤”

The wounded man gasps, his body trembling and his breath coming out in ragged, disbelieving spurts. “M-My—muh—my arms…!” He stammers, his voice barely more than a choked whimper, the sheer shock eclipsing the pain. His eyes, wide with horror, remain fixed on the empty space where his limbs used to be.

But #44? He isn’t phased in the slightest, nor a single ounce of remorse in his expression.

“You should be more careful. ♢” He sighs dramatically as if he’s the one who’s been inconvenienced, before stepping forward and casting an amused gaze down at the man crumpled at his feet. “At least apologize when you bump into someone. ♧”

And just like that, he steps away. Like what just happened was as insignificant as stepping on an insect.

Seriously? Cutting someone’s arms off over something like that? Compared to this guy, no one has anger issues.

I exhale through my nose, dragging my attention away from the scene. In the background, Tonpa is wrapping up his friendly conversation with applicants #403, #404, and #405. And—yep. There it is. Right on cue. With that ever-so-innocent grin plastered across his face, he hands them his infamous juice—that sickly sweet, definitely off concoction he’s been peddling every rookie that showed up like clockwork. Watching him, you’d think he was doing them a favor, just a friendly veteran looking out for the rookies. But in truth—the guy is an obstacle.

‘So it was poisoned after all, huh? Heh.’

The thought amuses me—not enough to laugh outright, but enough for a quiet chuckle in my head. Especially due to the visual, I'm currently getting as I watch applicant #405—the kid with the green hair and matching outfit—lifting the can to his lips, only for a second after to spit the juice right onto the ground, no hesitation, no second thoughts.

“I think this juice might have gone bad mister Tonpa, It tastes funny,” he notes. And #403 spits his right out at that.

I smirk. Right. Expired.

Tonpa probably laced that stuff with something nasty—a mild laxative, a sedative, maybe even something stronger, just enough to knock someone out of the running before the first test even begins. Nothing fatal, of course. The guy might be a snake, but from what I witness so far he wouldn’t take it to that level.

Guess you can’t even let your guard down before the exam starts. Not that I ever did.

Still, it’s amusing how quickly the kid picked up on it. Most of the other rookies he approached didn’t even question the drink. They gulp it down without a second thought, too nervous or too trusting to suspect a thing.

Tonpa, of course, laughs it off, playing the part of the good-natured veteran. “H-huh? That’s strange….” Followed by a grand apology “I am so sorry! I didn't realize the juice had gotten bad!”

Yeah. Right.

But instead of anger or venom, #405 only shows concern. When the sleaze confirms that he's okay, the kid simply moves on, already more interested in whatever comes next. He’s a kind kid at that.

It’s 5:55 AM.

The exam starts in five minutes.

—

Suddenly, a noise—loud, jarring, and unnatural—pierces through the dim tunnel like a combination of an old-school alarm clock’s relentless ringing mixed with the squeaky protest of a chew toy being crushed underfoot.

"BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

The sound rattles through the walls, vibrating in my chest, and just as abruptly, the end of the short tunnel ahead of us shifts. No—lifts. What once seemed to be an impenetrable stone wall now rises effortlessly, unveiling something—or rather, someone—behind it.

Standing before us is a peculiar-looking man. His pale lavender hair curls slightly at the ends, framing striking blue eyes and a long, pointed chin. But what’s most unnerving is his thin, curled mustache and the eerie absence of a visible mouth. He’s dressed in a sleek dark coat with a neatly knotted red tie, and in his gloved hands, he holds something... odd. A green, grotesque object—almost like a modified shrunken head.

I barely have time to process the bizarre scene before gasps ripple through the crowd. The once-sealed tunnel now reveals a seemingly endless passageway stretching far beyond where our eyes can see.

Then, the man finally speaks.

"I apologize for the delay, and thank you for waiting." His voice is smooth yet detached, like someone reciting a well-rehearsed line. "The entry period for Hunter applicants is now officially closed."

At those words, a new tension settles over the room. My muscles coil in anticipation.

"So, with no further ado, the Hunter Exam will now begin."

A shift in the air. You can feel it—the change in the atmosphere, the collective heartbeat of the group quickening as everyone subconsciously braces for what comes next. Some applicants roll their shoulders, others stretch their arms, and a few shake out their legs, ready to move.

But then, the man raises his hand slightly, signaling for patience.

"One final word of caution," he adds, his eyes scanning the eager faces before him. "If you're short on luck or ability, keep in mind that there's a very real chance you could end up seriously injured. Death is another distinct possibility."

A few uneasy murmurs ripple through the crowd, but no one moves.

"If you're willing to accept the risks involved, I'll ask you to follow me now." He extends an arm towards the open tunnel. Then, with a brief glance behind us, he gestures to a previously unnoticed elevator. "For the rest of you, kindly exit through the elevator behind you."

Silence.

Not a single person budges. No one who made it this far is about to give up now.

The man nods slightly, almost as if he expected this. "Very well then." He turns on his heel, and with a single exaggerated step forward, he begins.

“All 404 applicants will now participate in Phase One.”

With long, almost comically dramatic strides, he leads the way, his arms and legs moving in exaggerated motions. At first, it's simply a brisk walk, but within a minute, the pace increases. What was once a measured stride shifted into a light jog.

Without hesitation, the crowd follows suit.

The rhythmic sound of footsteps fills the air, our collective movement echoing through the tunnel. The only other sound is our breathing—steady, controlled. No one wants to be the first to fall behind.

Then, the man speaks again, his voice carrying easily over the noise.

"Ah, how rude of me. I neglected to introduce myself." He doesn’t break his stride but tilts his head slightly as if finally acknowledging our presence. "I am Satoz, your examiner for the first phase of the exam. It is my responsibility to lead you all to the second phase."

"Second? What happened to the first?" Someone calls out—applicant #294, a tall man with a thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

Satoz doesn’t turn his head, but his voice holds the faintest trace of amusement as he answers, "The first phase is already underway."

A wave of murmurs spreads through the running crowd. A few people glance at each other, brows furrowed in confusion.

Still maintaining his steady, exaggerated strides, Satoz continues, "The first phase is quite simple: all you have to do is follow me to the second phase. So try to keep up."

"Follow you?" #294 presses. "That’s it? There’s nothing else?"

"That’s right," Satoz replies without hesitation. "I cannot tell you when or where you must arrive— you only need to follow me."

I can’t help but smirk.

This was going to be a piece of cake.

—

It’s been two hours since the exam began. After two hours of constant jogging, our feet pounded against the dimly lit tunnels in an unrelenting rhythm. We’ve covered over 60 kilometers, and somehow, no one has dropped out yet.

I’ve been lingering at the back—not because I couldn't push forward, but because I wanted to watch something. Or rather, someone.

Applicant #187.

He wasn’t standing out because of any impressive skill, nor did he seem particularly strong. No, what caught my attention was what was happening to him.

“I won’t accept that! I won’t—!” he shouts, voice raw with desperation. He’s drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging to his shaking frame, foam forming at the edges of his mouth as he gasps for air. It’s painfully obvious—he’s fighting with himself, struggling not to collapse.

Then, it happens.

His grip weakens, and the computer he is carrying slips from his hands, shattering as it hits the cold, unforgiving ground. He stumbles, barely able to keep himself upright, his breath coming out in ragged pants. That’s when they move in.

The Amori Brothers.

They don’t lay a hand on him—at least, not physically. But words can cut deeper than any blade, and they know exactly where to strike.

“This exam was never for someone like you.”

“You’re a joke.”

“Don’t ever show your face here again.”

Each word chips away at what little resolve he had left. He folds into himself, clutching at his head, his whole body trembling. Then, with a broken, inhuman screech, he collapses.

Just like that, his will shatters.

And, as if to cement the sheer pathetic incompetence of it all, I watch Tonpa casually slip the brothers some cash—payment for a job well done.

Pathetic.

By the time we hit the 80-kilometer mark, the inevitable happens.

Applicant #187 is gone.

With that little curiosity satisfied, I pick up my pace. There’s nothing left to see back here, and I’d rather not get lumped in with the stragglers.

I weave through the crowd, moving toward the middle of the pack, but the moment I settle into my new spot, I realize exactly who I’m jogging beside—

Grhhhhh.

Just my luck.

That damn clown… and weirdly enough a purple-skinned pinhead.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? ♡” A lilting, almost sing-song voice reaches my ears, sending an uncomfortable chill down my spine. “Looks like it’s the little bat that was staring at me earlier. ♤”

Applicant #44.

Me? Staring at him? Delusional much? If anything, it was him who had been watching me.

I let out a small hum of amusement, tilting my head slightly before glancing at his badge as if I hadn’t already memorized his number. Him and every other potential threat.

“I think you have it confused, hmm…” I pretend to examine his number before meeting his gaze again, a polite yet sly smile curving my lips. “Applicant #44. I’d argue the opposite actually took place. If anything, you were the one watching me since the moment I stepped foot down here.”

Hisoka’s grin widens, the amusement in his golden eyes sharp enough to carve into flesh.

“But I do distinctly remember feeling those curious little eyes of yours on me earlier ♢,” he muses, voice practically purring with amusement. “When I performed my magic number, that is. You can’t tell me you weren’t looking at me then, now can you? ♧”

I don’t flinch.

Oh, you mean when you severed that guy’s arms? Yeah, obviously I looked. That wasn’t even three hours ago!

But instead of voicing my actual thoughts, I let my expression remain neutral, my tone soft and demure.

“Well, I imagine everyone was looking, #44,” I reply smoothly, careful with my words. “After all, who could ignore such an… extravagant—for lack of a better word—magic trick?” My smile lingers, just enough to be polite but not enough to be friendly. “But I don’t think it’s fair for you to claim I was staring, given the circumstances.”

He chuckles, deep and velvety, his expression unreadable.

“Oh, I know that ♡,” he admits, his grin stretching just a fraction wider. “I simply wanted to see how you’d react to being accused. ♤” He tilts his head, his eyes practically drinking in my every movement. “And I must say… you make for the most delightful entertainment. As expected. Fufufu~ ♢”

‘That bastard—!’

Tch. Whatever.

Maintaining my composure, I let out a light laugh, my tone shifting to something almost airy. “Oh, would you look at that,” I say, my voice casual as I subtly increase my speed. “It seems it would be judicious to pick up the pace. After all, I wouldn’t want to end up at the back of the pack.”

I don’t look back.

But I hear him laugh.

Creepy-ass clown.

—

As we push past the four-hour mark, long after surpassing the 80-kilometer milestone, we now approach the 100-kilometer mark. The air in the tunnel is thick with the scent of sweat and exhaustion, and the rhythmic pounding of feet against the ground has dwindled slightly as fatigue takes its toll.

The real challenge beggined as we had reach the long, winding staircase—just beyond the 80-kilometer point.

Without hesitation, Satotz, ever the relentless examiner, increases the pace. His strides remain as effortless as ever as if the hundreds of kilometers we’ve covered were nothing more than a warm-up.

For the rest of the applicants? Not so much.

The stairs are steep, endless, and unforgiving. Each step drains what little stamina remains in those who are already teetering on the edge of collapse. Halfway up, it happens—one by one, applicants begin to falter. Some collapse outright, gasping for breath, while others desperately clutch at the railing, trembling from the strain.

Another one down… then another, and another.

By the time we near the top, the number has climbed—37 applicants lost to exhaustion, leaving their dreams of becoming Hunters behind on these very steps.

Then, at long last, we reach the end.

At precisely 10:30 AM, the tunnel finally spits us out into the open. The sudden exposure to fresh air is almost jarring after the endless underground run.

Now, standing outside, I take in our surroundings.

The air is damp and thick with the scent of stagnant water and rich, earthy decay. The landscape stretches out before us—murky waters glistening under the dull sunlight, trees wrapped in twisting vines, and the constant, unsettling chorus of distant croaks and rustling leaves. The very ground seems deceptive, patches of land shifting slightly as if waiting for an unwitting victim to step too close.

I take a breath, exhaling slowly.

I have a strong suspicion of where we are.

The Milsy Wetlands.

Or, as it’s more infamously known—

Swindler’s Swamp.

That was the name Mr. Satotz gave it as he confirmed my suspicions.

"The Milsy Wetlands, also known as Swindler’s Swamp. We must cross it to reach Phase Two of the exam. This place is home to a variety of truly bizarre creatures—many of which are cunning, voracious predators who thrive on deception and feast on human prey. So please… be very careful.”

He speaks without turning to face us, his eyes fixed on the looming wetlands ahead. But then, after a brief pause, he finally turns, expression sharp, and raises a single finger as if to etch his next words into our very souls.

"If you are deceived, you will surely die."

A heavy silence follows, settling over the group like a suffocating fog.

Behind me, I hear the faint creak of metal straining before—

SLAM!

I glance over my shoulder—as do most others—just in time to see the massive doors seal shut behind us. The same doors we had fought to endure, the same doors that marked the path we had traveled so far.

On the other side, an unfortunate applicant stands frozen, eyes wide with horror as their chance at becoming a Hunter is ripped away in an instant. Their trembling fingers press weakly against the steel barrier, but there is no point in struggling now.

With a final, resounding clang, the door is locked.

So do most people.

“The creatures of these wetlands are not to be underestimated,” Satotz continues, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the group. “They will use every trick in the book to fool their prey.”

A ripple of unease spreads through the crowd. Some applicants gasp; others exchange wary glances.

Arms crossed over his chest, Satotz elaborates, “This is an ecosystem in which all creatures hunt by the ar deception—hence why it is called Swindler’s Swamp.”

Then, turning back toward the wetlands, he says one last thing before proceeding forward:

"Now then, follow me closely… so you won’t be deceived."

The crowd erupts into hushed whispers.

“Tch, is he messing with us?” one voice rises above the rest—Applicant #403. He scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “If we know they’re going to try and deceive us, then who’s gonna fall for it?”

As if to answer him, a sudden, urgent shout erupts from our left.

"DON’T FALL FOR IT!"

A man—or at least, something that resembles one—stumbles into view.

His dirty blond hair is disheveled, his khaki pants are stained with mud, his pink sweater is torn at the seams. A green scarf is wrapped haphazardly around his neck, and he appears to be dragging something heavy behind him. His breath is labored, his body shaking.

"He’s lying!" the man grunts through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse and desperate. "That man is deceiving you! That man is NOT who you think he is!"

He lifts a trembling hand and jabs a finger toward Mr. Satotz.

"HE'S AN IMPOSTER, A TOTAL FRAUD!"

Satotz does not flinch. He does not react at all.

“I’M THE REAL EXAMINER, YOU GOT IT?!”

The stranger continues, wildly motioning to the figure he’s been dragging—something eerily familiar. “HERE I’LL PROVE IT, LOOK AT THIS!”

The applicants collectively gasp.

It’s… Satotz?

Or rather, something that looks like him.

But this "Satotz" is different.

Its body is thin, almost skeletal, covered in patches of wiry brown fur. Its fingers are abnormally long, ending in razor-sharp claws. Its feet are gnarled and twisted, its limbs spindly and frail.

And its face—its face is nearly identical to Mr. Satotz’s.

Except for the mouth.

A gaping maw filled with jagged fangs stretches across its face, its lips curled into a grotesque grin.

"W-Whoa… he really does look like Satotz," #405 mutters.

The blond man tightens his grip on the creature’s arm. "This is a Man-Faced Ape from the Milsy Wetlands!"

“A man-faced what?” #403 blurts out, visibly confused.

"The Man-Faced Ape loves the taste of human flesh," the man explains. "But its body is weak, its limbs thin and fragile. That’s why it disguises itself as a human—to trick people into following it deep into the wetlands, where its pack awaits to feast on them."

He exhales sharply, his gaze snapping back to Satotz. "And that’s what he wants to do! He wants to deceive the entire Hunter applicant pool and EAT YOU ALL ALIVE!"

A tense silence follows.

“…That bastard,” #403 hisses under his breath.

"That would explain why he doesn’t walk like a normal human," #294 murmurs.

Some applicants nod in agreement, their expressions darkening with suspicion.

But me?

I remain unconvinced.

A real Hunter—especially an Examiner—should have no problem handling Swindler’s Swamp. And yet, this so-called “real” examiner looks completely beaten down, as if barely escaping with his life.

Highly unlikely.

I’d gamble that he’s the real imposter—either a Man-Faced Ape or another creature trying to lure applicants away.

As if reading my thoughts, Hisoka moves.

Without hesitation, he flicks his wrist, channeling Shu (周) into a set of playing cards, reinforcing them like sharpened blades.

Three cards shoot toward Satotz.

Three toward the stranger.

The result is instantaneous.

The "injured examiner" barely has time to react before the cards embed themselves in his chest. He collapses instantly, unmoving, his lifeless body sprawled against the damp ground.

Meanwhile, Satotz casually catches the incoming cards—two in his left hand, one in his right.

Hisoka smirks.

"I see, I see… that settles it, then. So you are the real one. ♧”

He shuffles the deck in his hands, the cards cascading smoothly in a perfect giant spring shuffle.

Without a word, Satotz flicks his wrist and throws the cards down—his arms parting in a swift, deliberate motion, like a stage performer unveiling a grand trick.

At that, the creature—the real Man-Faced Ape—lets out a guttural screech before scrambling away, vanishing into the undergrowth with an eerie eeekk and a garbled, unintelligible cry.

Satotz exhales. "The examiners are hunters, each hand-picked by the Exam Committee to do this job without pay. ♡"

Hisoka hums, his lips curling into a wider grin. "Anyone who holds the title we are vying for should have been able to deflect that attack—quite easily, I might add. ♤”

Overhead, I notice vultures circling.

Satotz closes his eyes for a moment before reopening them—this time, locking gazes with Hisoka.

"Still," he says evenly, "should you choose to attack me again, I will have no choice but to report you for assaulting an Examiner and have you immediately disqualified. Is that clear?"

Hisoka chuckles. "Of course. ♡”

A low, sickening squawk breaks the silence as vultures descend, picking apart the corpse of the "examiner imposter."

"Nature can be so brutal," #403 murmurs. "It’s hard to watch."

"So he was a Man-Faced Ape as well…" #404 mutters.

Satotz steps forward. “He was trying to confuse the applicants and lure some of you away. These attempts are to be expected. Please be aware that you will encounter such deceptions on a regular basis,” he says as he takes a step toward the corpse. “I must assume a number of you were fooled into suspecting my true identity.”

Awkward laughs escape from #294 and #403.

Mr. Satotz continues, “Understand, I want to make it abundantly clear that if any of you were to lose sight of me once we enter the fog of the Milsy Wetlands, you'll have no hope whatsoever of reaching the second phase of the exam.” He turns back around.

"You’ve been warned. Now, follow me."

And so, we run once more.

This time, through treacherous, unforgiving terrain.

—

The fog is thickening, swallowing the landscape in a dense, eerie haze. I can barely make out Mr. Satotz’s figure ahead, his silhouette flickering in and out of view like a ghost. My pulse quickens—I let my guard down for just a moment, and now I’ve lost track of the main group.

All I know now is that the applicants in front of me are splitting into two separate paths, their figures fading into the mist like shadows.

Two men stand out amidst the blur.

One carries a sword on his left, his posture firm, precise, and composed. The other wears a top hat, his stance relaxed but unreadable, exuding an air of quiet confidence.

The fog coils around them like a living thing, urging me to make a decision.

Which one should I follow?..

A. Follow the guy with the sword

B. Follow the guy with the hat

Chapter 5: "Steak 'Em If You Got 'Em" - Path of Money

Summary:

You choose to not buy the book, where you begin your journey to the Hunter Exam. After a brief encounter with an intriguing stranger at a café, you make your way to a rundown restaurant in Zaban City. Inside, you use a password to access a hidden elevator, which leads you to a mysterious underground area. Tension builds as other applicants prepare for the exam, each of you awaiting the challenges that lie ahead.

Notes:

Feel free to comment(aka please comment what y'all think :'] )
Please if you want this to work you got to keep track of the romance points you get!! Heres Something to help!!

Chapter Text

Mmh… sure, it might be nearby, but who says I’m ever going to Swindler Swamp?It’d probably be a waste of money. With that, I set the book back down and moved along.