The door closed behind them, and darkness swallowed the hall.
Four hundred applicants stood shoulder to shoulder in a tunnel carved from raw stone. The air was cold and damp, carrying the smell of earth and something older—something that had been underground for a very long time.
Satotz stood at the front, his top hat brushing the ceiling. His mustache twitched.
"The first phase is simple," he said, his voice echoing off the walls. "Follow me. Do not stop. Do not fall behind. The exam ends when I stop running."
He turned and began to jog.
Not a sprint. Not a walk. A steady, economical pace—one that could be maintained for hours.
He's testing our endurance, Kai realized. The weak will drop. The unprepared will quit. This is the first filter.
Killua fell into step beside him. Gon was on Kai's other side, his fishing rod bouncing against his shoulder. Behind them, Kurapika and Leorio exchanged nervous glances but kept up.
"How long do you think this tunnel is?" Killua asked.
Kai remembered the anime. The tunnel was a trick—it wasn't a tunnel at all. It was an underground highway that connected to a massive swamp. Hours of running. Miles of distance.
"Long," he said. "Don't waste your breath talking."
Killua nodded and focused on his breathing.
The minutes stretched into an hour. Then two.
Applicants began to fall behind. Some collapsed from exhaustion. Others simply stopped, their will broken by the endless dark and the monotony of footsteps.
Kai's legs burned. His lungs ached. But he'd endured worse in the Zoldyck mansion—electric shocks, poison injections, sleep deprivation that would kill ordinary men.
This is nothing.
But for Gon and Leorio, it was different. Gon had never run this far in his life. Leorio was older, heavier, and clearly struggling.
"Keep going," Kai said, falling back to run beside Leorio. "Shorten your stride. Breathe in for three steps, out for three steps."
Leorio glared at him but adjusted his breathing. His face was red, sweat pouring down his neck, but he didn't stop.
Kurapika ran with silent determination, his chains clinking with each step. His stamina was surprising—the Kurta clan had trained him well.
Then the attacks began.
A knife whistled past Kai's ear. He ducked instinctively, his Nen flaring.
"Someone's targeting us," Killua said, his voice cold.
Kai extended his aura senses. Behind them, a group of three applicants—large men, probably hired muscle—were pushing through the crowd, shoving weaker runners aside.
They weren't after everyone. They were after Gon.
Tonpa's influence, Kai thought. The rookie crusher is already at work.
"Killua. Three o'clock. Big guys."
Killua's yo-yo was in his hand before Kai finished speaking. He swung it once—a precise arc that caught the lead attacker in the knee. The man screamed and collapsed, tripping his companions.
"Keep running," Killua said, not breaking stride.
Kai smiled despite himself. That's my brother.
Hours later, the tunnel opened into daylight.
Kai squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. Before them stretched a vast swamp—murky water, twisted trees, and the distant sound of something large moving beneath the surface.
Satotz stopped at the edge.
"The second phase begins now," he said. "Cross the swamp. The exam site is on the other side."
He vanished. Literally—one moment he was there, the next he was gone, leaving four hundred applicants standing at the edge of a death trap.
"Did he just—" Leorio started.
"Move," Kai said. "Don't stop. Don't hesitate."
He stepped into the water. It was cold, up to his waist, and something brushed against his leg.
Giant snakes. Spiders. Frogs the size of cars.
He remembered the anime. This swamp was filled with creatures that could kill an unprepared hunter in seconds. But Kai wasn't unprepared.
"Stay close to me," he told the others. "I can sense the creatures before they attack."
He extended his En—not far, maybe ten feet in every direction. Enough to feel the heartbeat of every predator in range.
They walked in a tight formation: Kai in front, Killua covering the rear, Gon and Kurapika on the sides, Leorio in the middle.
A snake burst from the water—thick as a tree trunk, jaws wide enough to swallow a man whole.
Kai's yo-yo was already moving. He swung it upward, the metal edge catching the snake under its jaw. The creature recoiled, hissing, and disappeared beneath the surface.
"Don't stop," Kai said again. They didn't.
More creatures emerged. Giant spiders with legs like scythes. Frogs whose tongues could strip flesh from bone. Each time, Kai or Killua reacted first—yo-yos flashing, Nen flaring, bodies moving with the precision of trained assassins.
Gon helped too. His fishing rod wasn't just for show—he hooked a spider mid-leap and flung it into a tree, where it shattered the trunk.
Kurapika's chains whipped through the air, cracking like whips, driving back a swarm of smaller predators.
Even Leorio contributed—he picked up a fallen branch and swung it like a club, keeping the creatures at bay.
They reached the other side bruised, soaked, and exhausted—but alive.
Behind them, the swamp claimed a dozen applicants who hadn't been so lucky.
Kai pulled himself onto solid ground, water streaming from his clothes. His legs burned. His lungs ached. But his mind was already calculating.
How many of us are left?
He turned and scanned the crowd of survivors.
Four hundred had entered the tunnel. The swamp had thinned them further. Now, as applicants dragged themselves onto the bank in twos and threes, Kai began counting.
Two hundred and eighty.
Two hundred and sixty.
Two hundred and thirty.
His stomach tightened.
That's too many missing. The swamp was dangerous, but not that dangerous.
Then he felt it.
A ripple of bloodlust—sharp, sweet, and utterly wrong—brushed against his Nen senses like a razor pulled across skin.
Kai's head snapped toward the source.
Hisoka stood at the edge of the swamp, alone.
The magician's harlequin outfit was immaculate—not a single drop of water or smear of mud on his clothes. His red hair was dry, perfectly swept back. His painted lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
And his aura...
His aura was singing.
Kai had felt Hisoka's presence in the registration hall—disgusting, hungry, predatory. But that had been restrained. Polite, even.
This was different.
This was satisfaction.
Two examiners stood before the survivors: Menchi, a Gourmet Hunter with sharp eyes and sharper standards, and Buhara, a mountain of a man who looked like he hadn't missed a meal in his life.
"Cook us something edible," Menchi said. "Buhara wants Great Stamp roast. I want perfect sushi."
Buhara patted his massive stomach. "Great Stamp roast! The biggest one you can find!"
She smiled. No warmth.
"Last year, everyone failed. This year looks no different."
The applicants scattered.
Kai turned to Killua. "Catch me a Great Stamp. The biggest one. Their weakness are its soft and vulnerable areas. "
Killua vanished into the forest.
An hour later, he returned dragging two four-hundred-pound Great Stamp. Very dead.
Kai prepared it like his grandmother taught him—in another life. He stuffed the cavity with wild herbs, garlic, and onions. He then sewed it shut with vines, and turned the spit over a slow fire for three hours.
While Killua observes beside him and then began copying his movements.
When the skin crackled golden brown, Kai carried the entire boar to Buhara's table.
"Lechon," Kai said.
Buhara took one bite. Then another. Then he ate the whole thing, bones included.
"Pass," he said, oil dripping from his mouth.
Killua also carried the entire boar to Buhara's table.
Suddenly, Buhara burps loudly and said "I'm full"
Menchi sat alone at her table, arms crossed.
Kai approached her with an empty plate.
"I don't have sushi," he said.
"Then why are you here?"
"To show you I tried."
He placed a small piece of raw fish on her plate—caught from the river at dawn, kept alive until an hour ago.
Menchi tasted it. Chewed. Swallowed.
"The fish is fresh," she said. "But this isn't sushi. This is sashimi."
She set down her chopsticks.
"Fail."
Around Kai, the same scene repeated. Menchi rejected every dish. Buhara, already full, snored through the rest of the judging.
"Zero passes," Menchi announced. "The exam is over."
The crowd erupted in protests.
Then an old man stepped forward—bald, bearded, wearing a tracksuit. He carried a fishing rod and smiled like he knew something you didn't.
Netero. The Chairman.
"Menchi," he said gently. "Perhaps a compromise?"
She frowned. "Chairman—"
"A remedial test." He turned to the applicants. "Spider eagle eggs from Mt. Split-in-half. One dish. Both examiners judge. Satisfy them both, and you pass."
The climb was brutal. Spider eagles dive-bombed Kai as he scaled the cliff, talons scraping his shoulders. He grabbed three eggs and jumped, swinging down on his yo-yo's string.
Back at the cooking ground, Kai stared at his egg.
Buhara wants meat. Menchi wants art.
He cracked the egg. Whipped the whites into stiff peaks—using his Nen to speed the process. Folded the yolk back in. Poured the mixture into a hot pan.
He added thin slices of leftover lechon and wild herbs. Folded the omelet in half.
A spider eagle egg torta.
Buhara took a bite. His eyes widened. "Oh, that's good."
Menchi took a smaller bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
"The texture is interesting," she said. "Fluffy, but substantial. The herbs balance the richness."
She set down her fork.
"Pass."
Buhara nodded enthusiastically. "Pass! More!"
Kai exhaled.
Forty-seven applicants remain.
Three phases down.
The Fourth Phase – The Prison
Lippo was not what Kai expected.
He was short, bald, and wore a suit that cost more than most people's houses. He smiled like a used car salesman as he explained the fourth phase.
"Beneath this city lies a prison," Lippo said. "In that prison are some of the most dangerous criminals in the world. Murderers. Thieves. Terrorists. You will each be assigned one at random. You will challenge them to a game of their choice. If you win, you advance. If you lose..." He shrugged. "You stay."
"Stay?" someone asked.
"In the prison," Lippo said cheerfully. "Forever."
The crowd went silent.
Kai felt Killua tense beside him. "This is insane."
"This is the Hunter Exam," Kai replied.
They were led underground, into a labyrinth of cells and corridors. Each applicant was directed to a different door.
Kai's door opened onto a small room. Inside, a man sat at a table, shackled to the floor. He was large—not muscular, but bulky, with a shaved head and a tattoo of a spider on his chest.
The Phantom Troupe, Kai thought. But that's not a real spider. That's a fake.
The man smiled. "Name's Majitani. I'm a member of the Phantom Troupe. Ever heard of us?"
Kai had. And he knew Majitani was lying—the real Troupe members didn't brag about their affiliation. They just killed you.
"I've heard of you," Kai said. "What game do you want to play?"
Majitani's grin widened. "Coin toss. Simple. You call it in the air. Win and you go free. Lose and..." He rattled his chains. "You take my place."
Kai nodded. "One condition."
"What?"
"I toss the coin."
Majitani hesitated, then shrugged. "Fine. Doesn't matter who tosses. It's still fifty-fifty."
Kai took a coin from his pocket—a Zoldyck mint, silver with a snake on one side. He flipped it.
As it spun, he released the tiniest pulse of Nen—just enough to slow the coin's rotation.
"I call heads," Kai said.
"Tails," Majitani growled.
The coin spun once more—barely noticeable—then landed in Kai's palm.
Heads.
Majitani felt unease and immediately called out "Cheater!". Majitani tried to stand, but the chains held him. "You can't—that's not—"
"I haven't done anything," Kai said calmly. "I just flipped a coin."
Majitani's face went pale. He was thinking all the ways Kai could have manipulated the toss.
"I forfeit," Majitani whispered.
"What was that?"
"I forfeit!" The big man slumped in his chains. "Just go. Get out of here."
Kai turned and walked out of the room without looking back.
Psychology, he thought. Sometimes the easiest fight is the one you don't have to win.
Twenty-four applicants remained.
They gathered in a circular arena, its walls rising high above them. The ceiling was a dome of glass, letting in moonlight.
The examiner—a tall man with a scar across his face—stepped forward.
"Final phase. Tournament format. One-on-one battles. No killing. First to incapacitate their opponent or force a surrender wins." He paused. "You need three wins to pass. Lose three times, and you fail."
Kai looked at the other applicants. Gon. Killua. Kurapika. Leorio. Hanzo. Hisoka. Illumi—still disguised. And others he didn't recognize.
Three wins, he thought. I can do this.
---
First Match: Kai vs. Pokkle
Pokkle was an archer—fast, precise, his arrows whistling through the air in rapid succession.
Kai dodged three, deflected two with his yo-yo, and caught one out of the air. He closed the distance, snapped Pokkle's bow over his knee, and caught his wrist when he reached for a hidden knife.
"Surrender," Kai said.
Pokkle's shoulders sagged. "I surrender."
First win.
---
Second Match: Kai vs. Ponzu
Ponzu's backpack opened, releasing a swarm of bees. They stung Kai's neck, his arms, his legs.
The poison burned—then faded. Years of Zoldyck injections had made him immune.
He picked up a rock, threw it at her backpack. The hive malfunctioned. The bees scattered.
Ponzu turned to run. Kai caught her collar.
"Surrender."
"...I surrender."
Second win.
---
Third Match: Kai vs. Hanzo
Hanzo was a ninja from the Land of Shadows—faster, stronger, more experienced. His katana flashed.
Kai didn't flinch. He'd studied Hanzo's patterns. Feint left, strike right. Breathe before a kick. Blink before a throw.
They fought for twenty minutes. Both bled. Both refused to fall.
Finally, they locked together—Hanzo holding Kai's arm, Kai holding Hanzo's leg.
"Give up," Hanzo said.
"No."
They attacked at the same moment. Hanzo punches strongly and hit Kai's face. Kai then used their assassination technique snake awakens. His body moved beyond its natural limits, joints unlocking, spine twisting. He delivered a whip kick that caught Hanzo across the arm, leaving a red welt.
Hanzo stumbled. Kai stood.
The examiner stared. "Winner... Kai Zoldyck."
Hanzo, groggy, clasped Kai's arm. "Good fight."
Third win. Kai was a Hunter.
---
Across the arena,Kai glimpse as Hisoka watched Gon's match with hungry eyes. Kai's stomach turned.
The next match was called.
Killua vs. Gittarackur.
Kai frowned. Gittarackur was the name Illumi had registered under.
Killua stepped into the ring, yo-yos in hand. His expression was calm, confident.
Then Gittarackur pulled the needles from his face.
The disguise fell away.
Long black hair. Pale skin. Empty eyes that had haunted Kai's nightmares for years.
Illumi.
Killua's confidence shattered. His face went white. His hands trembled.
"Hello, Killua," Illumi said softly. "I came to take you home."
The arena fell silent.
Illumi didn't move to attack. He didn't need to. He simply stood there, radiating the same cold pressure Kai remembered from the mansion—the weight of a Zoldyck who could kill without raising a finger.
"You've disappointed Father," Illumi continued. "Mother cries herself to sleep. And I..." He tilted his head. "I had to come all this way because of your selfishness."
Killua's yo-yos lowered. His breathing quickened.
"You're going to come with me," Illumi said. "Quietly. Peacefully. Or I'll have to hurt your new friends."
His gaze shifted—to Gon.
Killua followed his eyes. His face went pale.
"You wouldn't," Killua whispered.
"I would." Illumi's voice never changed. Flat. Emotionless. Certain. "You know what I'm capable of. You've seen it. You've felt it."
Killua's hands dropped to his sides. The yo-yos clattered on the stone floor.
"I... I give up," he said.
The examiner frowned. "You haven't even fought."
"I give up," Killua repeated. Louder this time. His voice cracked.
He turned and walked out of the ring. His shoulders were hunched. His steps were heavy.
He didn't look back.
Kai started after him—but Illumi's voice stopped him.
"Kai."
Kai froze.
Illumi's empty eyes met his. "You passed. Congratulations. Father and Grandfather will be pleased."
He walked past Kai, following Killua into the darkness.
---
Kai found Killua behind the arena, sitting against a wall, knees drawn to his chest.
"Killua—"
"Don't."
Kai sat down beside him. Said nothing.
The silence stretched.
"I couldn't fight him," Killua finally said. His voice was hollow.
"I know."
"I'm a failure."
"You're not."
Killua turned his head. His eyes were red—not crying, because Zoldycks didn't cry. But close.
Killua leaned his head against Kai's shoulder.
They sat like that for a long time—two brothers, back to back against the dark.
The Hunter exam was officialy over.
But their real fight had just begun.