Ryker couldn't stop thinking about Menchi's traits.
The Purple-tier [Gourmet Hunter] was useful, sure. A lifestyle trait. A quality-of-life upgrade.
But the one that made his pulse quicken was the Blue-tier Nen ability.
[Nen Ability: Hundred-Blossom Blade Wheel (Conjuration)] (Blue).
A real Nen ability.
Ryker still didn't have a single Nen trait on his own panel.
If he could get even one, would the System force-open his aura nodes?
Would it drag him across the threshold into the world of Nen?
He glanced at the giant seated behind Menchi, and his appetite shifted from food to loot.
Buhara's traits were equally tempting.
[Enhancement Nen] (Blue).
And something even stranger.
[Demigiant Bloodline] (Blue).
Not bad. Not bad at all.
But attacking an examiner during the Hunter Exam was suicidal. It was disrespect, disqualification, and a fast track to becoming the Association's public enemy.
Ryker wasn't ready to burn that bridge. Not yet.
So he smiled, nodded politely, and went back to cooking.
Menchi noticed.
She clicked her tongue and looked away.
"Hmph. That guy…"
She could only wait and judge like a proper examiner.
One by one, candidates began presenting their dishes.
Everyone assumed speed mattered, so they rushed, sweating as they plated their pork like it was a timed bomb.
Buhara, as expected, was a human vacuum cleaner.
He accepted nearly everything and devoured it with a grin, one bite per pig, as if he was afraid the food might escape.
Menchi, however, was an executioner.
Most plates didn't even get a taste.
Rejected.
Rejected.
Rejected.
Gon's was rejected.
Leorio's was rejected.
Killua's was rejected.
Kurapika, who painstakingly assembled a stacked pork cutlet burger, was also rejected.
Even Hanzo was rejected.
Even Illumi was rejected.
Even Hisoka.
Hisoka's smile sharpened into something dangerous. Playing cards shifted between his fingers, almost lazy, almost lethal.
At this point, only one candidate remained unjudged.
Ryker.
And unlike everyone else, he wasn't rushing.
His dish sat covered, sealed beneath a metal cloche.
But the aroma leaked out anyway.
It rolled across the courtyard like a warm tide, rich and layered, dragging saliva out of mouths that were already dry from exhaustion. Candidates who had just been failed stared at Ryker's plate like prisoners watching someone else eat.
Whispers broke out.
"I didn't know he could cook."
"That smell… it's insane."
"Even if it tastes half as good as it smells, he's clearing."
"Boss Ryker really is built different."
Gon's eyes sparkled.
"That's Ryker's secret seasoning!"
On Whale Island, Ryker was a fishmonger by day and a bonfire legend by night. If there was one thing he never lacked, it was flavor.
Kurapika stared, stunned.
He had been proud of his burger.
Now he felt like he had brought a toy to a real chef's kitchen.
Menchi stood up.
That alone made the courtyard go quiet.
She crossed her knives at her waist and stepped forward, eyes bright with genuine curiosity.
"I don't know what you made yet," she said, "but the aroma is nearly perfect."
Buhara was openly drooling.
"I swear I'm full," he mumbled, wiping his mouth. "But now I want to eat ten more pigs."
Menchi shot him a look.
"This time I taste first. You've eaten enough."
Ryker's plate was finally pushed forward, right in front of the examiners.
Silver utensils. Clean presentation. A scent that refused to be ignored.
Menchi spoke without mercy, loud enough for the failed candidates to hear.
"This is what food is supposed to look like."
She pointed at the rejected piles behind her.
"Most of you served things even pigs wouldn't eat."
Buhara nodded enthusiastically, still staring at Ryker's covered dish like it was treasure.
Menchi leaned in, inhaling slowly.
"Let me guess. There's pork, but not a standard cut."
"Not belly. Not ham. Not neck."
"This is… unfamiliar. I've cooked Great Stamp more times than I can count, but you somehow made it smell new."
She tapped the cloche lightly.
"Candidate 406. State your dish."
Ryker straightened, composed and courteous.
"This is a signature dish from my hometown."
"I put real thought into it, and I hope it earns your approval."
He paused, like a man delivering a grand reveal.
"It's called…"
"Nine-Turn Intestines."
A beat of silence.
Ryker continued smoothly, as if he hadn't just dropped a culinary grenade into the courtyard.
"To preserve the original flavor and freshness, I intentionally kept part of the ingredient in its authentic form."
"Please enjoy."
With a perfect, polite smile, Ryker lifted the cloche.