The Finish Line Ahead

The rain had stopped some time ago.

The sky remained overcast, heavy clouds hanging over the grassland like a curtain that had fallen but never touched the ground. The air was still damp, but the wind had become distinct. It no longer curled around them, no longer carried moisture; it simply blew straight at them, like an invisible hand pushing them forward.

The running continued.

But the atmosphere had changed.

The tension of being driven onward quietly faded, replaced by the silence of nearing their destination.

At last, the finish line emerged from the end of the mist—a tall gray-white stone monument carved with the Hunter Association emblem. Several black-clad assistants stood silently around it.

There were no flags, no countdown, and no announcement of completion.

Everything was quiet. Only that stone monument silently declared: this was the destination.

Gon was the first to dash across the finish line, wearing a tired yet radiant smile.

Killua followed close behind, his hands still in his pockets, looking completely at ease.

Kurapika remained expressionless. Leorio collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath, too exhausted to care that his shoelaces had come undone.

The other examinees arrived one after another. Some dropped to the ground, some sprawled face-down, while others kept looking around, unable to believe they had really finished running.

Ryan was neither at the front nor at the back.

After the first wave of high-speed examinees, he quietly entered the finish area.

No one noticed him, and no one welcomed him. He did not charge across the line like Gon or collapse like Leorio—he merely passed the edge of the stone monument, found a slightly elevated patch of grass, and sat down quietly.

His breathing was steady, and there was little sweat on his face, but the corners of his eyes were red—a capillary reaction caused by prolonged suppression while in Zetsu.

He did nothing.

He did not look around or watch anyone. He merely lowered his head and stared at the ground, as though still calculating his rhythm.

But the Association had already noticed him.

"Number 199 has entered the finish area. Time ranking: thirty-first."

"Not part of the fast group, but roughly seventeen percent ahead of the average time. Physical endurance curve—stable. Aura fluctuations—no Nen detected throughout."

"Repeat that. No Nen throughout?"

"Yes. We cross-checked every fluctuation in his physical output and found no Nen Emission. Preliminary assessment: unawakened—but there is an anomaly."

At that moment, a middle-aged examiner wearing gray-rimmed glasses opened Ryan's registration record. "Occupation field on the application: blank. No recommender. Registration location: Zebil City."

After reading it aloud, he glanced at the recorder. "How do you think someone like this made it into the top thirty percent?"

No one answered.

He looked again at the data on the screen and tapped a small red dot. "Mark him as 'Observation Group B.' Do not trigger intervention. Place him under behavioral tracking only."

On the other side of the finish plaza, behind a small stone in the grass, a playing card lay silently against the ground.

Hisoka wandered over from the distant route, lowered his eyes to the monument, then looked at Ryan, who was sitting and resting.

He said nothing.

But the faint smile at the corner of his mouth made one thing clearer than words ever could: he had not forgotten.

Ryan lowered his head and drew his sleeves together, hiding his fingers in his palms. He knew the finish line was only a stopping point, not safety.

But he also knew he had crossed the first gate.

The running was over.

The first stage was complete.

And the real Hunter selection had only just begun.

The grassland in the finish area was not very wide.

It was a shallow hilltop plaza cleared out in advance, containing only a stone monument and several rows of marker lines. There were no flags, no broadcasts, and no celebration.

Several examiners stood behind a raised platform. They did not speak, merely watched examinee after examinee approach while recorders quietly announced each number and entry time.

"Number 405, Gon."

"Number 404, Kurapika."

"Number 403, Leorio."

Each announcement landed in the records one after another, as though they were writing down a string of examination results that could never be changed.

Ryan did not approach the crowd.

He knew he could not stand beside those people or reveal any recognizable behavior too early.

He strolled along the outer ring of grass to the east side and sat down.

Not long after, more people arrived in succession. Some were panting heavily, some fell to the ground, and some simply lay flat on their backs without moving, letting sweat gather into tiny beads on their foreheads.

Tonpa was among them. Covered in wet mud and looking terrible, he walked near the monument without saying anything, then sat alone in a corner like a patch of shadow.

Several numbers flashed in highlight on the Association's backstage data screens.

"Top fifty completion rate updated."

"Physical condition stable throughout. Behavioral distribution even. No evidence of team cooperation."

An examiner stared at the data sheet and lightly tapped the desk. "This type is hard to classify."

"His movements suggest training, but his behavior does not resemble that of a typical ability user."

"No signals released, no tendency toward interaction—his behavioral pattern is close to that of a lone operator."

On the other side of the plaza, Gon sat on a stone pedestal, swinging his legs as he watched the sky.

"This exam was even longer than I thought it would be."

Killua stood beside him, drying his hair with a wet towel. "You make things sound too simple."

Leorio was still catching his breath. Kurapika looked into the distance, then his gaze shifted slightly as he said softly, "A few people have never made contact with us."

"Who?"

"That one over there." Kurapika glanced at Ryan, who was sitting beside the strip of grass.

Killua followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow. "He hasn't said a word since the first stage, has he?"

Gon blinked. "He ran pretty steadily."

"There are dozens of examinees who ran steadily," Leorio said. "But someone who hasn't made a sound the whole time? I've only seen one other person like that."

After saying that, he jerked his chin toward a red-haired man in the distance who was playing with a deck of cards.

Everyone fell silent.

No one continued the discussion.

Ryan did not respond to their looks.

He knew that in a real Hunter examination, keeping a low profile did not mean becoming invisible. It meant offering no clues.

Everything he did now—not speaking, not approaching others, not returning their stares, not using Nen—was building a model that could not be pinned down.

That did not mean he was safe, but it was enough to make trackers lose interest, at least for the time being.

He sat quietly as the wind lifted the damp hair on his shoulders. His body had long since relaxed, but his mind did not stop for even a moment.

If the first stage had been meant to eliminate those who could not run,

then the second stage would surely eliminate those who could not endure.

The Association's data had already begun shifting files.

He could sense that beneath this finish plaza lay another gate—a closed gate, one that had yet to open.

And he had to decide—

whether to continue hiding, or begin choosing his own position to act.