Grassland Maze

The running continued.

Although the fog had thinned somewhat, it had not truly dispersed. Instead, the changing terrain of the grassland made it even more deceptive. Being able to see did not mean being able to get out. In fact, seeing "well enough" made it easier to believe one was moving forward, when in reality, one was merely circling in place along misaligned paths.

The entire grassland resembled a maze without walls. Its walls were not brick or stone, but wind, the direction of the grass, the curves of water trails, and human misperception.

Ryan had already broken away from the main group's central flow.

He chose a route closer to the edge of the wetlands. The grass there was taller and the air more humid, but he preferred how "clean" it was—there were not many footprints, nor were there the messy traces of other people's judgments.

Every step he took was steady. Not fast, but precise.

He did not use Nen to enhance his body or senses, relying only on his eyes, experience, and calm analysis. The angle at which the grass sprang back beneath his feet, the direction of the wind brushing past his ears, the drift of duckweed in puddles—each could tell him which way was a dead end and which might be the true exit.

In the distance, a group of people was still "running," yet they no longer knew how long they had been running, or whether they were even still moving forward.

Ryan had heard one examinee shout, "My legs are about to break! Why am I still in this place?!" Another simply squatted down and muttered, "Did we die in the first phase already?"

He did not look back.

It was not coldness. He simply understood that no words could pull someone back from the brink of collapse unless that person was willing to move forward himself.

His task was not to save people.

His task was to reach the destination without alerting anyone, and to survive the exam.

At that moment, he adjusted his breathing and shifted from Ten back into Zetsu, letting his body enter a rhythm that was almost concealed.

His presence vanished.

Even if someone passed by him, they would see only a blurred silhouette, quickly swallowed by the fog.

Not far away, a slight slope hidden beneath tall grass revealed half an edge. Ryan bent low to the ground, pushed off with both feet, and used the slope to rush upward for a look around.

It was still an endless grassland, and the terrain seemed unchanged.

But he noticed one detail: the fog in the distance was slightly lighter, and the sound of the wind had changed—from an echo to a clear, passing sound.

That meant the wind could pass through that area.

Without hesitation, he turned and circled down the slope from the other side, continuing forward along the edge.

The moment he landed, a faint rustle came from the grass.

Ryan instinctively turned sideways, but did not make any move to attack.

A familiar flash of color flickered through the grass shadows.

Hisoka.

He sat behind a clump of tall grass, one knee raised, spinning a playing card between his fingers as though waiting for something.

He did not approach, nor did he laugh aloud. He merely lowered his head and stared at the water marks on the ground, his wandering gaze impossible to read.

Ryan knew Hisoka had noticed him, but offered no response. He simply crossed that area quickly, his footsteps steady and his breathing unhurried.

Hisoka was in no rush to reveal who interested him. He was that kind of hunter—one who enjoyed waiting slowly, choosing slowly, and would even let someone go just to make the hunt more enjoyable later.

"...That kid isn't simple..."

Hisoka murmured as he lightly tossed the card onto the ground.

When he raised his head again, Ryan had already gone far away, his figure vanishing between grassy slopes where light and shadow intertwined.

There was still one final stretch left in this running trial.

And Ryan, though never at the center of the stage, had never once lost his step.

The grassland began to dry out.

It was not a sudden change. Rather, with every step deeper in, the moisture in the ground gradually faded. The grass roots shifted from dark green to yellow-brown, and the resistance beneath their feet was no longer as sticky and slick as before.

The wind no longer blew wildly either.

The damp wind that had once slipped into their ears from every direction had become a one-way draft, as though guiding them, or warning them: you were about to run out.

The examinees in the main group finally sensed a change as well.

"Wait, I don't think I've been down this path before!"

"I can see trees over there! That's not the direction we came from!"

"The wind is blowing forward... Are we getting out?!"

At that moment, their voices held more than anxiety. There was a thread of incredulous hope. More people began to accelerate in that direction, though they still moved cautiously, as if afraid it was merely another extension of the illusion.

They did not rush out all at once. Instead, they tested their way forward step by step, like people who had just emerged from an enclosed space and had not yet learned how to breathe the outside air.

As they regrouped and began accelerating in a small cluster, Satotz's figure remained in the distance, neither stopping nor speeding up.

He still wore that expressionless look as he ran toward a direction with no visible end. Like the hand of a clock, he continued forward at the same pace, undisturbed.

And outside all of this, Ryan still did not approach anyone.

He had chosen a more slanted stretch along the edge, where wet grass met rocky slopes.

The ground there was uneven, with slopes that rose and dipped without warning. Grass roots tangled together like a dense net. Most people would give up at a glance, because it was too difficult to run through, hard to judge, and disorienting.

But to Ryan, this was the easiest route.

Few people would come here. There were no footprints, no watchful eyes. As the wind passed between rocks and grass, it formed circling sounds. To others, it was noise; to him, it became an "echo signal" for judging the direction of the space.

He slowly circled up a small slope, crouched down, and lightly touched two faint water trails on the ground with his fingertips.

One was a natural flow; the other looked like a residual trace left by someone's shoe sole.

"Wrong direction..." he judged quietly. "That was left by the main group."

So he changed his angle and slowly cut back toward the main route along the edge of the rocky slope, while always keeping to the outer area twenty meters away.

From afar, the examinees on the main path gradually recovered their order from the chaos.

One person finally found his footing and shouted toward the sky, "The fog is moving! It really is the way out!!!"

Another rushed forward and yelled, "This time, the wind is really leading us forward!! It's not a trap anymore!"

"We're out—we're out!"

Some laughed, some cried, and some even dropped to their knees, gasping wildly. The contrast of being pulled back from despair gave many who had planned to give up a renewed sliver of strength.

But some remained where they stood, still shaken.

"I still don't believe it... I don't... What if this is another illusion..."

"What if we're being led somewhere? Then it's still... still a trap..."

Ryan had no intention of persuading anyone.

He merely crossed slowly from behind a distant mound of grass, stepping one by one along the path where the wind blew. Every foothold seemed predetermined.

He did not join the crowd or greet anyone.

He was simply walking his own path.

And all of this was watched by someone else.

That person sat atop a rock, skillfully spinning a playing card between his fingers.

Hisoka.

He watched a new order gradually form across the grassland, watched the main group gather again, watched those who had stumbled out slowly pull themselves free from despair.

But his gaze did not remain on them.

He had been watching that inconspicuously dressed boy, the one without Nen aura or any fluctuation of presence.

The one who had barely spoken a word from beginning to end, yet had quietly influenced the direction of the situation.

"Hehehe..."

He laughed.

The playing card spun once between his fingers, then came to rest between his index and middle fingers.

It was the two of hearts.

"You still haven't shown your hole card."

No one answered.

Ryan passed diagonally in front of him, his steps unhurried and his movements unremarkable.

Hisoka did not stand, stop him, or speak.

He merely smiled quietly, as though waiting to see when a gamble that had long been destined would begin.

And at that moment, the boundary of the grassland finally began to reveal real terrain—

Not the finish line, but something real.

The grass was shorter, the wind smoother, and sunlight streamed in.

That meant they had passed through the deepest illusion zone of the first phase.

Ryan showed no expression. He kept moving forward, composed and steady, neither rushing ahead nor stopping to look around.

The wind kept blowing.

The running was not over.

But for those who had truly survived, this step alone was already worth celebrating.