Nigiri Sushi

"The second-round test is—nigiri sushi."

Menchi crossed her arms, her tone indifferent.

The examinees looked at one another. Leorio scratched his head and asked, "What's sushi?" Most of them looked baffled. Only Hanzo, Hisoka, Kurapika, and a few others showed signs of understanding.

"If you don't know, figure it out yourselves. I'm only responsible for eating."

Menchi waved a hand, and the doors to the kitchen area opened. Inside were rice, sashimi, vinegar, and all kinds of tools.

"Time limit: thirty minutes. Make it and bring it to me. If I think it tastes good, you pass. If it doesn't, you're eliminated."

The examinees flooded into the kitchen.

Everyone stared blankly at the ingredients before them. Raw rice, sashimi, and a bottle of vinegar. There were no instructions at all. Some people directly served Menchi raw rice and sashimi, only for her to throw them out along with their plates. Others cooked the rice and shaped it into balls without adding fish, and they were eliminated too.

Buhara sat at the judges' table, rubbing his round belly as he yawned. He had just eaten seventy whole roasted pigs and only wanted to sleep now. Menchi stood beside the cooking area with her arms crossed, her expression growing darker by the minute.

Hanzo stood before a counter with his arms folded and snorted. "I happen to know this one. I saw it while on a mission in Japan—it's just raw fish on vinegared rice. Easy."

All the surrounding examinees pricked up their ears.

Hanzo began demonstrating: cook the rice, mix in vinegar, shape it into small oval rice balls, then lay sashimi over them. He was not particularly skilled, but all the steps were correct.

Hisoka leaned against a wall, watching with interest as he spun a playing card around his fingers.

Menchi stared at Hanzo's back, and the smile on her face slowly vanished.

"Easy..." she murmured. "That's the phrase I hate most."

Saitama stood at his counter, looking at the ingredients in front of him. Raw rice, sashimi, and a bottle of vinegar.

Just as he was about to start, he suddenly remembered something.

That huge pig was still beside the grill. He had eaten half of it himself earlier, and plenty of meat remained.

He walked over to the grill and tore off a large chunk of the remaining roast pork. It was still warm, its fat glistening faintly on the surface. He tore it into thick palm-sized slices, more than twice the size of the sashimi.

"Sashimi's just a thin little slice. Putting that on rice definitely won't fill anyone up. This test never intended to let people eat their fill in the first place."

He returned to his counter and began cooking the rice. He added too much water, so it came out soft, but it could barely be shaped. He formed the rice into an oval and held it in his palm, just large enough to cover it. Then he laid the roast pork on top and pressed it down, making sure the meat completely covered the rice ball. The pork extended slightly past the edges, and its oil seeped into the rice.

"Anyway, it's for the judges. More meat is better than less."

Not far away, Tonpa secretly glanced at Saitama's plate. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he hurriedly lowered his head to keep shaping his own rice ball.

Saitama picked it up for a look—the pork was a little crooked, one side of the rice ball had been pressed flat, the vinegar bottle was still unopened, and the roast pork fat made the rice gleam with oil.

He made two in total. They were not quite the same size. One leaned slightly to the left, while the other had half its rice ball flattened, but both had plenty of meat.

He picked one up and took a bite. He chewed, then chewed some more. The rice was soft but not mushy, the roasted pigskin had a chewy charred fragrance, the fat melted between his teeth, and the lean meat still held its juices. The pork fat had seeped into the rice, giving the otherwise bland white rice a bit of flavor.

"Not bad. Passing grade. It'll keep you full for lunch."

He finished the one in his hand, then picked up the second and took another bite, eating half of it.

After chewing, he glanced toward the judges' table. Buhara was rubbing his stomach and yawning, while Menchi stared at some examinee's plate with a frown deep enough to crush a fly. Things looked pretty chaotic on the judges' side too.

"Forget it. They're busy anyway. The judges probably aren't hungry."

He stuffed the remaining half into his mouth. Bits of pork sushi fell from between his fingers. The plate was empty, save for a small puddle of grease that had seeped out of the roast pork. He wiped his hands on the hem of his shirt, leaving an oily stain on the bottom of his yellow T-shirt.

The judging began. Menchi was the first to walk over to Hanzo. She stared at his sushi for a long time, then picked one up and took a bite. After chewing twice, she spat it out.

"Fail."

Hanzo froze. "What? I made it completely right—"

"Your knife work is bad. The vinegar-to-rice ratio is wrong. The fish is cut too thick. And you dared to call this thing 'easy'?"

Hanzo opened his mouth, but not a word came out.

Menchi did not look at her again. One after another, everyone was eliminated. Even Hisoka's elegantly plated sushi was dumped into the trash without so much as a glance. The smile at the corner of Hisoka's mouth faded for an instant, and the playing card in his hand stopped spinning. Then he smiled again and slipped the card back into his pocket.

Menchi walked over to Saitama's counter and looked down at the empty plate. It was empty except for a small puddle of grease.

"Where's your sushi?"

"I ate it."

"...What?"

"I made two. Ate both."

A vein popped on Menchi's forehead. "This is an exam, not a cafeteria."

"I was hungry."

Menchi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Zero points. Failed."

The moment she finished speaking, Buhara rose from the judges' table. His stomach was so large that his chair slid back half a meter as he stood. He slowly walked over to Saitama's counter, looked at the grease on the empty plate, then at the stain on Saitama's shirt hem. Then he picked up half a piece of pork sushi that had fallen onto the plate—it had slipped from between Saitama's fingers while he was eating and landed at the edge of the plate without him noticing.

Buhara stuffed the half piece of sushi into his mouth. He chewed.

"Delicious."

Menchi turned around, her eyes widening. "What are you doing? That fell on the plate—"

"It has meat." Buhara licked the oil from his fingers. "He put roast pork in the sushi. Before I came here, I only ate breakfast. I've only eaten seventy pigs so far, and I'm starving."

"That's not the point! This isn't nigiri sushi at all! This is—"

"Delicious." Buhara licked his fingers again, his tone utterly certain. "It's much more substantial than those dozens of little rice balls with only sashimi on them. At least this guy was willing to add meat."

The entire place fell silent for five seconds. Hanzo held his rice bowl with his mouth open, forgetting to stir in the vinegar. The crooked rice ball in Leorio's hand fell onto the table. Gon's eyes shone, while Killua frowned—Menchi's forehead vein did not multiply. She merely closed her eyes and turned back around. "Not following the rules means not following the rules. I'm the examiner. Zero points."

Buhara scratched his stomach and returned to the judges' table, his chair sliding back another half meter. "But it really was delicious."

Menchi ignored him.

The last examinee slapped the table and shouted, "This isn't fair!"

Menchi's gaze turned cold. The chopsticks in her hand shot out in an instant and embedded themselves in the table before the examinee. Their ends still buzzed with vibration. She displayed the one-star Hunter license on her chest. "Anyone who objects can leave now."

The entire room instantly fell silent.

Menchi slammed her chopsticks onto the table, her voice icy. "Everyone has failed. No one passes the second round."

The entire crowd erupted.

The examinees gathered around the judges' table, furious, but no one dared make another move. A burst of laughter came from overhead. Chairman Netero hung upside down from a tree branch, dressed in wooden clogs and a yukata as though he had just come out of a hot spring.

"Menchi, judging it like that really is a bit too strict."

"Chairman—"

Netero landed and patted her shoulder, as gently as if he were patting his granddaughter. "How about this? Add another test. You demonstrate it personally, so the examinees can be properly convinced."

Menchi thought for a moment. "Fine. But I'm changing the test."

She pointed toward a distant gorge. It was a bottomless abyss, with a rushing river at its base and sheer rock walls on both sides. A few bird nests clung sporadically to the cliffs.

"There are Grape Spider nests at the bottom of the gorge, with eggs inside. Bring back an egg, cook it, and satisfy me. It's that simple."

She turned and jumped down first. Her green ponytail traced an arc through the wind as she lightly landed on a protruding ledge in the cliff face. She looked up at the examinees above.

"Come down."

The examinees surged toward the cliff edge and peered down. Some gasped sharply, while others took a step back.

Saitama peered into the gorge, then looked at his T-shirt, which he had just cleaned.

"It'll get my clothes dirty."