Shadow Walker

By this point, running was no longer merely a test of physical strength.

Their feet had long since become so sore and swollen that they had gone numb. Their legs felt filled with lead, even their fingers were beginning to stiffen, and every breath burned in their lungs like fire.

The mist had mostly dispersed, but the hot, damp air still clung to them like a shadow, sticking to their skin and constantly draining their strength. The grasslands stretched all the way to the horizon, yet no one knew whether there was truly an end ahead.

Everyone was holding on through sheer willpower.

The line had stretched out again, splitting into several groups. Up front were the ones with exceptional stamina—Gon, Killua, Kurapika, and Leorio were all there. None of them spoke, but every pair of eyes was fixed on Satotz in the distance.

The middle section consisted of people who had regained their rhythm. Some were barely keeping up, while others staggered along.

At the rear were those who could no longer endure much longer—gritting their teeth, bleeding, weak in the legs, their eyes unfocused, ready to collapse at any moment.

And Ryan was not in the line.

After leaving the grassland maze, he had traveled along the outer edge of the wetlands, maintaining a safe distance the entire time—not too fast, not too slow, never drawing attention.

He knew that ahead lay the final screening zone. There would be no more illusions, no more traps. The true elimination would come from—one's own body.

Or someone else's.

"Hey! You!"

Suddenly, a candidate stepped out from the grass to Ryan's right and blocked his path.

He was young, with short, bristly hair and a raincoat full of holes draped over his body. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was filled with exhaustion and hostility. Several scratches marked his body, and one of his shoe soles had come off, leaving only a sock.

"You look pretty relaxed, huh?" He lifted his chin at Ryan. "You haven't been with the group this whole time, and you're not even out of breath. Not tired?"

Ryan did not stop. He merely shifted slightly, intending to go around him.

"What are you avoiding?" The man suddenly raised an arm and grabbed a stalk of grass, blocking his way. "Afraid I'll figure out what you're up to?"

Lowering his voice, he gritted his teeth. "I can tell. You're not ordinary. You've been keeping to the side since the wetlands, never interacting with anyone, and you're especially good at finding routes. Are you someone from inside the Association?!"

"Or one of those... undercover agents sent to eliminate us?"

His words came faster and faster, as if he had been suppressing too much for too long and had finally found an outlet.

"Are you recording who falls behind? Are you reporting it whenever someone is about to collapse? You're an examiner, aren't you!? Are you—"

Ryan stopped.

He did not make a sound.

He simply looked at the man—an examinee whose nerves had been stretched to the breaking point. Anger, suspicion, fear, and unwillingness mixed in his eyes. Like a dying wolf, he was wildly snapping and biting with the last remnants of territorial instinct.

"Don't tell me you're not." The man growled again. "You're not an ordinary person at all, are you?!"

Ryan slowly took a step back, his gaze calm as water.

He neither denied it nor answered directly. He merely slipped his hands lightly into his pockets, his eyes moving from the man's head to the grass behind him.

The wind was blowing from that direction.

For a moment, the man froze, his gaze faltering.

The next second, Ryan suddenly moved, cutting sideways into the wind current and slipping lightly past him without any contact.

The man whipped his head around, but Ryan had already passed him, vanishing into the stream of wind and blending into the next patch of tall grass.

His pace had not quickened, his breathing had not faltered, and even his heartbeat had not changed because of the encounter.

He did not need to explain, argue, or fight.

He only needed to avoid being trapped.

The man stood where he was, watching Ryan's back disappear. As he panted, hesitation appeared on his face.

He suddenly was not so sure anymore. Had that person simply not considered him worth noticing?

Had he really been wrong to suspect him?

But Ryan had already gone far away, giving him no chance to continue speculating.

He simply continued forward, leaving no trace like a shadow as he blended into the mud, dust, and wind of the examination.

The ground was no longer sticky and slick as before. In its place was dry, soft earth.

This was the tail end of the wetlands, the true "sprint zone"—there were no more illusions, traps, or obstacles. Only the sound of wind, footsteps, and increasingly heavy heartbeats.

The running continued.

Satotz was still running along that nearly straight path ahead. His rhythm had not changed at all, making people wonder whether he was a machine. The candidates who had once hoped he would turn back and announce the finish line had long abandoned that fantasy. All they could do now was grit their teeth and endure.

Gon's steps were steady. Though drenched in sweat, his eyes still shone. He silently followed close behind Satotz, his stride neither fast nor slow, as if he were imitating him while also searching for his own rhythm.

Killua had his hands in his pockets, with little expression on his face. Only the beads of sweat at the corners of his eyes revealed that he was not having an easy time either.

Kurapika's stride was precise, every step seeming calculated. Leorio had already clenched his teeth tight, sweat soaking his entire shirt and misting his glasses, yet he stubbornly refused to fall behind.

They all knew that the closer they came to the finish line, the less room there was for mistakes.

But they did not know that beyond the grass, someone else was running as well.

Ryan.

He advanced silently along the side of the exam course, joining no group and appearing beside no one. His presence had diminished to almost nothing, like a patch of silence in the air.

His Zetsu was still active. From the moment he left the illusion zone until now, he had maintained it for nearly an hour.

This was a test of extreme control.

It was not merely the use of Nen, but control over his own body, breathing, and rhythm of movement. If he had revealed even the slightest opening for a single second, some sensitive perception-type examinee might have noticed him long ago.

But he had not.

Like a black shadow skimming along the ground, he passed one grassy mound and stone after another from inconspicuous positions, avoiding the sightlines left by the runners on the main path.

Then, the sound of the wind suddenly changed.

It was not that the wind had grown stronger, but rather—that there was something discordant within it.

Ryan did not look back. He merely tightened his shoulders slightly before quickly slipping into denser grass.

Three seconds later, a soft laugh drifted over.

"Heh heh heh... you're still running?"

The voice came from behind and to his left. It was Hisoka.

He did not approach. He was merely sitting atop a large stone where tree roots jutted from the ground, legs crossed as he twirled a card in his hand, facing toward the sunlight.

He was not watching the main road, nor was he watching Satotz. Instead, he was looking toward that stretch along the side where hardly anyone walked.

"You..." he murmured, his voice as light as the wind. "You always hide yourself so well... but the wind exposes people."

He did not stand up, nor did he say anything further.

A playing card simply drifted gently from between his fingers and landed on the ground, revealing its face—the Jack of Diamonds.

He smiled.

Then—he did not move again.

Ryan continued onward. He did not look back, nor did he even confirm whether Hisoka had truly said those words.

He only knew that people like him did not need a response.

The more he responded, the more firmly he would be locked onto.

His steps did not change. He merely slowed his breathing a little, then a little more.

There was no hesitation in his eyes. He only stared at the track stretching toward the horizon.

Having run this far, there was no longer much room left for thought.

It was no longer about who won or lost, but who was still standing.

Who had not yet fallen.

He did not know where the finish line was, nor did he want to know.

He only knew that he could not—stop.