Qualified Candidates

The bottom-floor hall. The roasted flying beast bones had already been collected by the proctors. The cumin and salt bottles were more than half empty, tucked into Saitama's pocket. Hisoka leaned against the opposite wall, spinning a playing card in his hand. Beside him lay a small pile of flying beast bones, neatly stacked into a little triangle. Saitama sat in a chair with ten sausage wrappers in his pocket. Neither of them spoke. They simply sat there in silence.

The exit doors opened.

Illumi emerged from the shadows. He was thin and gaunt, expressionless and unblinking, with round-headed Nen Needles embedded all over his head and face. Every step was spaced exactly the same, like a puppet controlled by someone else. He stopped in a corner of the hall without looking at anyone.

Saitama's gaze settled on the needle-headed freak. He had seen what that face looked like after changing back in the anime—those needles altered the structure of the face, and removing one would reveal the true appearance of the corresponding area.

He stood and walked up to Illumi.

"Is that thing in your face actually stuck in there, or is it glued on?"

Illumi did not answer. The hall fell silent for a moment. Hisoka's playing card stopped in midair, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

Saitama raised a hand, pinched the end of one needle, and pulled it out. The movement was gentle, like plucking out a hair. The instant the needle tip left the skin, the small area beneath Illumi's left eye seemed to have its restraints released. The lines of his brow and cheekbone began to shift, exposing the true contours of the bone beneath—but only a small patch, less than the size of a palm. A deep black, lightless eye appeared through that gap, forming an eerie contrast with the stiff, dull face around it.

Illumi raised his hand and took the needle from between Saitama's fingers. His movement was not fast, but it was steady. He pushed the needle back into its original spot on his face with a light press of his fingers. The exposed real bone structure was pressed back into place by the Nen Needle, his facial structure fixed once more as it snapped back into Illumi's appearance. The entire process took less than three seconds.

"Who are you?" His voice had no inflection, but every word was clear enough to chill.

"Eh-ha! Ahahaha! I was just checking if it was real. See ya." Saitama looked at his empty fingers and turned back toward his chair.

Illumi said nothing more. His hand lifted slightly inside his sleeve, and a needle-like metallic glint flashed at his fingertips—the air in the hall abruptly tightened. Hisoka's playing card stopped. He tilted his head slightly toward Illumi without speaking, but the corner of his card lifted faintly in Illumi's direction, like a silent warning.

Illumi lowered his hand. His killing intent cut off as though someone had unplugged it. He recognized Hisoka's signal—it was not a threat, but a warning to back off. He turned and walked to the corner of the hall, leaning against the wall again as he returned to being the puppet fixed in place by Nen Needles.

The exit doors opened again.

Hanzo walked out. His bald head reflected a warm yellow glow beneath the lights of the bottom-floor hall. The moment he entered, he swept his eyes around the room. When he spotted Saitama's bald head, his eyes lit up and he hurried over.

"I'm Hanzo, a Hidden Cloud Style elite ninja." He pressed his hands together in a ninja salute. "I heard Lippo mention in the tower that a bald guy was the first to clear it—I knew it! Bald people are absurdly strong! Just look at that shine."

Saitama looked at him. The two bald men stood face-to-face under the lights. Hanzo's head shone warm yellow, while Saitama's had a cold white gleam. Hanzo pulled a business card from his ninja tool pouch and offered it with both hands. "Brother Saitama! Let's look out for each other during the rest of the exam!" Saitama accepted the card, looked at the writing on it, then looked at Hanzo's bald head. "Your head's pretty shiny too."

"Of course! Every morning, I use a ninja-exclusive polishing technique—"

Hisoka leaned against the wall, watching the two bald men discuss whose shine was brighter. Several seconds passed before the playing card in his hand finally flipped to the next one.

Hanzo put away his smile and lowered his voice as he asked Saitama, "That guy just now—you pulled out his needle, and he nearly killed you. Are you really not afraid, or did you just not sense it?"

"I sensed it. It was pretty cold."

"My master once told me that there are only two kinds of people who can keep a straight face when someone locks onto them with killing intent—idiots, and people so strong they don't need to change expression. Which one are you?"

Saitama thought for a moment. "Probably the first kind."

Hanzo froze for a moment, then slapped his thigh and burst out laughing. Halfway through, he abruptly stopped and glanced at Illumi in the corner. After confirming Illumi was not looking over, he whispered, "When that guy asked you, 'Who are you,' he wasn't asking your name. He was asking what kind of thing you are."

"I know." Saitama took out the salt bottle from his pocket and wiped the cumin stains off the cap with the corner of his shirt.

Hanzo watched him wipe the bottle. His mouth opened, but he swallowed the words that had reached his lips and silently pushed the mechanism on his sword hilt back into place.

The exit doors opened one after another. Bodoro came out, his footsteps steady. Pokkle emerged too, bent over and gasping for breath. Hanzo went up to hand them business cards. After that came the other examinees, arriving in groups of two or three from their respective passages and filling the open space of the bottom-floor hall.

The final group arrived. Gon rushed into the bottom-floor hall and immediately spotted Saitama in his chair. "Brother Saitama!" Killua followed with his hands in his pockets, humming an off-key tune with a rhythm half a beat faster than usual. As he passed the corner, he did not look at Illumi, nor did his steps pause. Leorio collapsed onto the floor with his hands clutching his head, his voice already hoarse.

The proctor stepped into the center of the hall and announced the names of all those who had passed. Saitama, Hisoka, Illumi, Hanzo, Bodoro, Pokkle, Gon, Killua, Leorio, and several examinees who had arrived through other passages. Every time a name was called, an examinee stepped from the crowd and stood beneath the lights.

Illumi leaned against the opposite wall. The mark left by the needle hole on his face had long since vanished, and his dark pupils were fixed on the back of Saitama's chair.

In front of the television, Genos stared at the screen. He replayed frame by frame the scene of that needle-headed freak directing killing intent at his teacher—the degree of pupil contraction, the angle at which his fingers rose, the metallic glint of the Nen Needles inside his sleeve. Conclusion: this examinee possessed the body control unique to an assassin. His threat level required further confirmation. He set the opened bag of chips on the coffee table, rose to his feet, and the ignition valves of his mechanical arm thrusters popped out. On the screen, his teacher had begun sorting through the wrappers in his pockets, and the image of him pulling out the needle replayed once more—confirmation: his teacher was completely unharmed. But that did not affect his judgment. The threat assessment would not be withdrawn simply because the other party had backed down.

The thrusters began preheating. The sky outside the window was already dark. He did not know how long he had been sitting in front of the television. His teacher was still taking the exam inside, and he should have gone grocery shopping. The thrusters shut down. He sat back down, picked up the chips, then set them down again. He decided he would wait until his teacher safely left that tower before going out. At the very least, until his teacher came out of the screen.