The Eight-on-Eight Rule Falls Apart, and a Yawn Clears the Stage

The wind off the east coast drove salty spray against the cliff, scattering flecks of white foam. A ring of rough stone pillars surrounded the arena, whose floor was pitted with hollows of varying depths, their edges worn smooth. The guidebook had only a few lines on this stage: NO.001 One Square Foot of Beach. SS rank. The guardian was an official game GM. The challenge was a sport, its danger rating was the highest, and many challengers had left the game with serious injuries.

Biscuit crouched behind a reef outside the arena, pressing her dog-eared Rare Card Encyclopedia against the rock. She tapped a blank patch with her fingertip, her brows tightly knit.

"Listen carefully. We have almost no information on this stage. We only know it's some kind of sport. What we're playing and how we win, the guardian will have to tell us on the spot." She kept her voice low, but even the wind and waves couldn't drown out its gravity. "Of the teams that challenged it over the past three years, six out of ten were carried out. There are only five of us, so we probably don't have enough people. Let's find out the rules first. If we can't play, we'll go back and recruit more. Don't force it. No card is worth dying for."

Gon clenched his fists until his knuckles paled, but his eyes burned with excitement. "It's okay! Let's try first! If it doesn't work, we can find more people!"

Killua sucked on a strawberry lollipop, his catlike eyes fixed on the empty stone platform at the center of the arena, his back taut. He had heard scraps from veteran players at the tavern. They said the guardian had more than a dozen ruthless killers under him. Just how dangerous they