Anger and composure

The hall on the lowest level.

Saitama leaned back in his chair. He had finished his compressed biscuits and drunk all his water. After shifting through several positions, he finally sat up and stared blankly at the floor.

An ant crawled out of a crack beside a hole in the wall and followed a groove in the floor tiles toward the center of the hall. He pulled half a leftover sausage from his pocket, pinched off a crumb, and placed it in front of the ant. It touched the crumb, stopped, waved its antennae, then hoisted it up and kept going. Saitama pinched off another crumb and put it in the same spot.

A new line of ants came in through the hole, carrying biscuit crumbs from who knew where and falling into line along the grooves in the tiles. He crouched down again and found that the ant from the tip of his shoe had returned. It was circling the spot where he had left the crumbs. He broke off another tiny bit of biscuit and put it there. One ant found it first and carried it away. Another circled the spot three times before a companion bumped it aside. As it crawled off, it lingered for a beat where the biscuit crumb had been.

Second place always had it worst. At the supermarket checkout, the second line was always faster because someone in the first was bound to be digging out their wallet. Last time, he had queued for eight minutes while the person ahead of him bought three bags of rice, then turned around and swapped out two discount coupons. He had stood at checkout two for six minutes, until his legs had nearly gone numb.

He chuckled to himself again.

On the other side of the hall, Hisoka leaned against the wall, a playing card frozen in midair between his fingers. The man who had cleared the course even faster than he had was lying on the floor, lining up ants and muttering that one of them was always second in line, then letting out a goofy "heh-heh." Hisoka's habitual smile stiffened. For the first time, the card between his fingers seemed pointless.

On the arena platform, the score was 1–1. Gon had won the second match, and morale was high.

From the shadows opposite them came the sound of handcuffs being unlocked, echoing off the stone walls. Zha Hu stepped out, burly and ferocious, with a brutish face and a steel prosthetic right arm. He made a show of being terrifying from the moment he appeared, each heavy step drawing a dull thud from the floor.

He walked to the center of the arena and pointed to the nineteen red hearts on his chest. Then he slowly turned halfway around, letting the examinees see every one of them. "See these? Each one stands for someone I killed with my own hands. Nineteen lives in all." He kept his voice low, deliberately hoarse and deep, as if he were stating an ordinary fact. "If any of you don't believe me, come and find out."

Leorio took a step back, frowning. "This guy..." he murmured to Kurapika. "He's even more trouble than the last one."

Zha Hu's gaze swept over the five people across the arena before settling on Kurapika. He tilted his head and pointed a steel finger at Kurapika's nose. "You, pretty boy. We're fighting to the death. No weapons. There has to be blood, and we fight with our lives on the line. It ends when one of us surrenders or dies. Even if you surrender halfway through, I won't stop. If you're scared, say so now."

Kurapika did not get angry. His expression remained calm, as if he were watching a poor performance. He undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up twice. "Fine."

Zha Hu froze. This man was not afraid of him. Usually, one glimpse of the red hearts on his chest was enough to make an opponent tremble and beg for mercy. He glared at Kurapika and clenched his fist, his steel fingers grinding together with a shriek. "You're not afraid to die? Let me warn you—in the Hunter Exam, more people get crippled than killed. I've seen plenty like you. You scrape through the first stage on luck, get your teammates to clean up your mess in the second, and by the third, your true colors show. Understand? People like you pretend you're calm, but really—"

"Are you finished?" Kurapika's voice was flat.

The smile vanished from Zha Hu's face. For half a second, he stood stunned. He had not frightened Kurapika at all. With a roar, he swung his steel fist at Kurapika's head. Kurapika slipped to the side. The fist whistled past his ear and smashed into the floor behind him. Boom! A crater burst open in the tiles, stone chips flying as cracks spread from the point of impact. For a moment, the arena fell silent.

That punch made everyone take another look at the prisoner. He was not all bluff; he had real strength. Gon frowned, and Leorio's hands clenched without him realizing it. Kurapika stood beside the crater, glanced down at the rubble by his feet, and showed no change in expression.

His punch had missed. Breathing hard, Zha Hu looked at the expressionless blond boy before him and finally realized that threats were useless. He might not be strong enough to overpower him, either. Gritting his teeth, he decided to play his last card.

He spun around, turning his back to Kurapika and all the examinees, and pulled open the clothing across it. A black spider tattoo appeared. It had twelve legs, but no number. It was the infamous emblem of the thieving group known throughout the world as the Phantom Troupe.

A smug sneer twisted his lips. He struck a pose to make sure everyone saw the tattoo. "Still not scared? This is the Phantom Troupe—a gang of thieves who kill without a second thought! I'm one of them! I've spilled more blood than you've ever seen!" He thought invoking the Phantom Troupe would put him back in control and scare off the blond boy who had not so much as flinched.

But he had no idea who Kurapika was.

The entire arena went silent.

The Phantom Troupe were the sworn enemies of Kurapika's clan. Seeing the man flaunt a stolen Troupe emblem, Kurapika went rigid, his pupils contracting. The next instant, his eyes turned bloodred—the Scarlet Eyes—and a killing aura, cold enough to pierce bone, radiated from him.

Before Zha Hu could react, Kurapika vanished from where he stood. One crushing punch laid Zha Hu out. He flew through the air like a rag doll and hit the ground hard, where he lay motionless.

Kurapika's Scarlet Eyes faded. He turned and walked off the arena platform. "He lost," he said quietly.

In the control room, Lippo's voice came over the speakers. "The rules of a fight to the death: it ends only when one side surrenders or dies. He has neither surrendered nor died. The match continues."

Leorio panicked. "Then that's easy! Kurapika, get back up there and make him surrender!" Kurapika shook his head. "I won't kill someone who can't fight back. He'll surrender when he wakes up." Killua said coldly, "He's not going to wake up. He's faking it. His plan all along was to drag out the match in exchange for a reduced sentence."

The minutes ticked by. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, an hour. Zha Hu lay motionless, even keeping his breathing deliberately slow. After being knocked down, he feigned unconsciousness and lay there playing dead, running down the clock and bringing the exam to a standstill. Their remaining time, once sixty hours, dwindled bit by bit. Leorio paced in agitation. Gon and Killua frowned too.

In the control room, Lippo held his coffee, a faint smile on his lips. This was exactly the outcome the prisoners wanted.

Down in the hall, Saitama was still crouching on the floor. The ants had long since carried away all the crumbs. The last few trudged past the tip of his shoe with biscuit pieces bigger than their heads, then disappeared into the crack by the hole. He brushed the crumbs off his hands, slowly got up, walked back to his spot, and lay down again.