Stalled Hunt

The running had entered its sixth hour.

The air no longer carried only the scent of dampness. Sweat, mud, and even a faint smell of blood had mixed into it—some examinees had fallen, some had scraped themselves, and some had broken their shoe soles, kneeling on one knee as they stubbornly refused to fall behind.

After crossing the last low hill, the grassland opened up, yet the expanded field of view only made them more confused.

With no clear landmarks, no boundary lines, and no sign of the finish, the examinees could only blindly follow the footsteps ahead of them. It was as though a group of humans fighting desperately for their lives had been thrown into an endless wilderness. They did not know where the end was. They only knew—they could not fall behind.

And in the third cluster near the back of the main group, Tonpa appeared again.

He still wore the expression of a concerned older brother. Though panting heavily, he did not forget to remind the others, "Be careful! The grass roots here are slippery. I almost fell just now—you should take a detour."

"The slope on the right is easier to cross. I passed through it just now. It should lead ahead."

Several young examinees with unsteady steps and nearly exhausted strength believed his guidance, turning right with him onto a slope concealed by grass.

The surface looked dry, but the ground beneath would give way and send them slipping—that was a trap zone Tonpa had deliberately created by crushing and snapping the original anti-slip grass roots with the edges of his shoes.

Sure enough, the moment someone stepped in, one person slipped with a thud, splashing up muddy water and crashing into a companion, knocking down another person as well.

"Ahhh—!!"

"Why did you push me—"

"It wasn't me, the ground's too slippery!"

The commotion quickly put the two groups behind them on alert. They slowed down, some taking detours while others turned back angrily. "You led us the wrong way!?"

Tonpa hurriedly waved his hands, putting on a regretful yet innocent expression. "No... I clearly just... Maybe they didn't step properly..."

He did not panic. He had long grown accustomed to this rhythm—set someone up, cause an incident, muddy the waters, then clear himself quickly. In every trial, he had survived safely by "controlling other people's judgment."

—Until this time, when he once again turned his gaze toward the boy not far away, the one who was always alone and never joined the crowd.

Ryan.

He was slowly moving along a parallel route to the east. His pace was unhurried, but always steady and precise. He had never fallen, never been disrupted even once, and no one could truly "see" where he had come from or where he was going.

This kind of person is the most dangerous, Tonpa thought. If I weren't experienced myself, he would have suppressed me long ago.

He made up his mind to lure Ryan into one of his traps as well—even if he could not eliminate him directly, he would at least make him look foolish and break that calm, silent composure.

He glanced at the shallow ditch trigger he had prepared beside his feet, lowered his head and crouched as if to tie his shoelaces, then casually used his palm to soften the most stable part of the small slope. When he looked up again—Ryan was already ten steps directly in front of him.

The wind blew past his side.

Tonpa revealed a faint smile and spoke as though victory were assured. "Brother, this path takes less effort. I just went through it. There's wind and shade from the sun. You can—"

Before he could finish, Ryan seemed not to have heard a thing. With a light kick of his feet, he leaped over a patch of tall grass roots. Without even looking in the direction Tonpa had laid out, he charged straight into a stretch of grass on the left that looked slippery but was actually firmly packed.

"...Huh?"

Tonpa froze. Just as he turned to confirm it, he heard a bang—the patch of grass roots beside his feet, which he had deliberately loosened, suddenly collapsed. His body swayed, and he stepped into empty space himself!

He staggered forward, about to fall into the muddy pit he had set, and in his panic grabbed an examinee's shoulder.

"Why are you pushing me?!"

"It wasn't me, it was him... Huh?!"

Tonpa finally lost his balance completely, tumbling headfirst into the muddy trap he had originally prepared for Ryan.

Mud splashed everywhere, like a fat fish dropping into a pond.

Someone who saw it burst out laughing. "Didn't he just say this way was the safest?"

"And then he fell in himself... Hahahaha!"

"That's way too ironic—"

Tonpa's face was caked in mud. Just as he wanted to explain himself, several people behind him simply went around him and stopped paying attention to him.

Ryan did not look back in the distance. He merely made a silent record in his mind:

[Tonpa set another trap. Target assessment incorrect, trust lost—self-destruction.]

The running continued.

At the end of the grassland, the outline of another type of terrain had begun to emerge.

And in this hunt of "judgment," Tonpa was the one who had failed.

"Was that guy doing it on purpose?"

"Exactly. He said, 'This way is stable,' then fell into the mud himself? Were you trying to drag us into the trap too?"

"No way, that was way too fake... Aren't you an experienced examinee?"

Tonpa crawled out of the mud, his face covered in muck as he flailed his arms in embarrassment. He still wanted to explain something, but he could not form a single complete sentence. His shoe was stuck in the mud, and he could not pull one foot free, forcing him to turn around on tiptoe with his other leg.

The people around him had already gone far ahead. No one looked back.

He opened his mouth, but said nothing.

At that moment, he suddenly realized that he had screwed up this time.

This was not the first time he had laid a trap. In the past, he would smile as he blended into the crowd, use the guise of a "nice guy" to get close to people, then at key moments lead away one new examinee after another before retreating completely unscathed with an innocent expression.

But this time—he had become a joke.

He had thought he had seen through the boy named Ryan and wanted to use his old tricks to test the limits of this "silent dangerous figure." He had not expected the other party to ignore him entirely.

Not only had Ryan ignored him, he had also deftly avoided the trap Tonpa had planted and led Tonpa into stepping into it himself.

This was tactical counter-guidance.

It was not a direct conflict, nor was it a public exposure. It was making you "jump in yourself," then watching helplessly as trust crumbled bit by bit.

Tonpa felt somewhat dazed.

He climbed out of the mud. A few lingering laughs remained over the grass. Instinctively, he raised his head to regain some dignity, only to discover that no one was listening to him anymore.

Everyone was running forward.

No one waited for him.

Farther ahead, Ryan was still advancing slowly along the side ridge of the grassland. He did not show any smug expression. He was simply observing naturally: who had slowed down, who had begun complaining in low voices, and who was looking around in search of "someone to rely on."

These people had once been the targets of people like Tonpa.

And now, Ryan was observing how these targets tried to find new anchors after losing their "hypocritical guide."

He did not act, but he had already drawn up a map in his mind—

[Examinee Group Behavior Structure]:

Type A: Independent type (excellent physical ability + stable will)—led by the main group

Type B: Dependent type (follows others' judgment, needs guidance)—approximately 60% of the total

Type C: Opportunistic type (easily swayed, aggressive)—such as the people who tried to provoke others earlier

Type D: Manipulative type (likely to collapse after failed guidance)—Tonpa being the typical example

At this moment, the Type B group began to waver.

Someone began discussing it. "Was that guy deliberately misleading us just now?"

"He seems to have taken the exam before... I heard he likes to weed people out."

"I won't listen to him again. I'd rather crash into something myself than be tricked by him."

This was the chain reaction of counter-guidance feedback.

There was no need to expose him, and no need to fight. All it took was letting him "take a fall" to collapse the persona he had painstakingly built.

And truly strong people did not need anyone to guide them.

The wind blew through the grass as Ryan slowly raised his head.

In the distance, the lay of the grassland was finally beginning to change. It was no longer a gentle curve, but had started to rise upward.

That was the sign that they were entering a new region.

Perhaps the finish had not yet arrived, but "judgment" had already fulfilled its role.

Tonpa was now lowering his head, carrying his muddy shoe as he squeezed back into the edge of the group step by step.

But he was no longer "that older brother." He was merely a dripping-wet laughingstock.

And Ryan had already quietly slipped beyond his sight.

The running continued, but no one listened to Tonpa anymore.