Unwilling Victory

The airship landed on the rooftop helipad of a city hotel. Satotz led the nine candidates through the corridor and into the final examination venue. The hall was spacious, its floor covered in neat square mats. At the front stood an electronic tournament bracket display, concealed by a curtain. Netero had changed into formal kimono, while Beans stood at his side holding a clipboard. Saitama stood on Netero's other side, dried hotpot broth stains still visible on his yellow T-shirt.

Netero announced the rules. "The final examination will be a one-on-one elimination format. Winners advance, while losers continue fighting in a rotating series of matches. By the end of the tournament, only one person will be eliminated. Anyone who kills an opponent will be eliminated immediately. As long as you win one match, you pass. I arranged the bracket according to your previous performances."

He pulled down the curtain. The electronic screen lit up, revealing the tournament bracket. The first line read: Gon VS Hanzo.

Hanzo pressed his palms together in a ninja salute and flashed onto the stage. Gon climbed onto the ring from the other side, clenching his fists.

Netero stroked his beard and turned toward Saitama. "Who do you think will win the first match?" His own judgment was clear—Hanzo's hand-to-hand combat skills ranked among the very best of all the candidates, and Gon had no chance in a direct confrontation.

Saitama looked at Gon in the ring. The boy was rolling his wrists, moving exactly as he had when catching swamp fish on Whale Island. He had seen this part of the story. He remembered every detail. "Gon."

Netero stroked his beard. "Oh? Based on what?" Saitama did not answer. Netero thought he was analyzing the gap between their abilities, but he was only recalling the plot. When Hanzo heard Saitama confidently say that Gon would win, he could not help looking back—the bald man had used that same tone when he jumped down from the top of the tower.

Hanzo struck. Less than a few seconds after the match began, Gon was thrown onto the mat, his back hitting the ground. Hanzo's knee pinned his chest, and a kunai rested against his throat. "Surrender."

Gon gritted his teeth. "No."

Hanzo frowned, put away his kunai, and stepped back to let him rise. The next second, Gon was thrown to the ground again. Then a third time, a fourth, a fifth. Every time Gon was thrown, he climbed back up; every time he rose, he was slammed down even harder. Blood began to appear on the mat. Gon's left eye had swollen into a narrow slit, his lip was split, and blood dripped from his chin onto the floor.

Hanzo stopped and looked down at Gon, who lay facedown on the ground. His tone darkened. "Next, I'll break your arm. If you surrender now, you can still walk out of this venue unharmed."

Gon braced himself against the floor and staggered to his feet. His legs trembled, but his gaze did not waver. "I can't beat you. I know that. But I can't surrender. I haven't found my dad yet. I can't give up here."

Hanzo fell silent for two seconds, then cleanly snapped Gon's right arm.

The crack echoed clearly through the entire hall. Killua closed his eyes. The playing cards in Hisoka's hand paused for an instant.

Gon bit his lip and did not cry out. Pain twisted his whole face, but he remained standing. Hanzo broke his left arm as well. Gon dropped to his knees, both arms hanging at his sides, his fingers still twitching faintly. He raised his head and looked at Hanzo, his lips moving.

"I won't surrender."

Hanzo took a step back, his voice beginning to shake. "You still want to fight? You don't even have hands anymore!" Gon said nothing. His eyes said everything.

Hanzo fell silent. He remembered his childhood—how his hands had trembled the first time he held a kunai, how he had sat on a rooftop all night after completing his first mission. He had never known why he wanted to become a ninja, or why he had killed so many people. Later, he heard of a Dream Scroll that recorded the origins of all ninja arts. He wanted to find it. He wanted to know what his hands could do besides kill.

The child before him was not fighting to become stronger, for fame or wealth, or for anything that could be traded. He only wanted to find his father. It was that simple.

Hanzo sheathed his kunai, walked to the edge of the ring, and said to Netero, "I surrender."

The hall went quiet for a moment. Gon was still kneeling in the center of the ring, his two broken arms hanging at his sides as blood dripped from his fingertips onto the mat, one drop at a time. When he heard the words "I surrender," his lowered head jerked up. His face was covered in blood, his left eye swollen into a slit, his lips trembling as he shouted in a hoarse voice, "I won't be happy about a victory like this at all! I don't want you to go easy on me. I wanted to fight you to the end, fair and square, with my own strength!"

Hanzo turned to look at the child covered in wounds, whose arms hung limply at his sides yet who still stubbornly shook his head. After a long silence, his voice carried a trace of helplessness. "You won. Not because you could defeat me—but because I can't bring myself to kill you. I surrender."

Netero announced Gon as the first person to pass. With blood all over his face and both arms hanging at his sides, Gon was helped off the stage by medical staff. As he passed Saitama, he raised his head and gave him a wide grin. The wound on his lip split open, and blood flowed out again. Saitama looked down at the spiky-haired boy, bloody-faced and still smiling, and paused.

"Don't your arms hurt?"

Gon thought about it. "They do. But it's okay."

Saitama pulled his hand from his pocket. He was holding half of a broken wooden sword he had picked up beneath the ring earlier and had not yet thrown away. He placed the fragment beside Gon's stretcher without saying anything.

Netero turned his head toward Saitama. His original judgment had been perfectly clear—Hanzo's hand-to-hand ability surpassed Gon's, and there should have been no suspense in this duel. Yet the result was the exact opposite of what he had predicted. It was not that Hanzo could not defeat Gon. Hanzo had simply given up victory himself.

"You were right about the first match." Netero stroked his beard, his eyes settling on Saitama's face. "From the very beginning, you were certain Gon would win."

"Not win," Saitama said. "He just wouldn't surrender."

Netero was silent for a moment. He had lived for one hundred and twenty years, seen countless strong people and countless battles. He had spent his life judging people by their aura reserves, martial ability, and combat experience. But the deciding factor in this match had not been found in any of those measurements—it had been in Hanzo's compassion and Gon's unbreakable will. Neither could be measured or predicted. Yet the bald man before him had seen them from the beginning.

"I've spent my whole life judging people, and I'm still not as good as you."

Saitama said nothing. He could not explain it—he had not actually judged anyone. He had merely watched the anime. He had known Hanzo would surrender years ago.

Gon was taken to the medical room. On the electronic screen, the result of the first match lit up: Gon VS Hanzo—Gon Wins. Immediately after, the second line revealed the next matchup: Kurapika VS Hisoka.

Hisoka put his cards back into his pocket and walked toward the ring. Saitama watched his retreating figure—he had seen this match too. Hisoka would surrender, and Kurapika would pass. The whole plot had already been laid out. He stood beside Netero with his arms at his sides, waiting for the next match to begin.