Fire Night, Cooking Souls

Night fell.

At the edge of the mountain forest, the Association's temporary gathering point had already been half dismantled. What remained were several newly piled stacks of firewood, a bag of unopened flint, cooking pots and utensils, and a few mission notices.

The broadcast sounded on schedule:

"Trick Tower will open at six tomorrow morning. Tonight's pre-test camping assignment—theme: wilderness cooking with fire."

A wave of hushed discussion immediately spread through the crowd.

"They're testing cooking too?"

"No way, we just had eggs not long ago..."

"You still expect someone to feed you? There won't be hotpot in the Ta."

Leorio froze for a moment, then shouted with a frown, "Hey! Isn't the Association being way too arbitrary? What kind of test is this?"

"It's a test of adaptability," Kurapika said calmly.

"So what are we supposed to cook?"

"Anything. You can choose the fire source, pots, and tools, but you have to find the ingredients yourself." A staff member handling the setup casually added, "The mountains have everything at night. Figure it out yourselves."

The broadcast added:

"This assignment will not eliminate anyone. Within three hours, complete your dish, after which examiners will randomly select people to taste it. No food, undercooked food, unpalatable food, or highly poisonous food will all be recorded as negative evaluations."

After speaking, the cooking crew set down several empty pots and iron shovels before walking away.

Ryan stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the bonfires being lit one after another as smoke slowly spread through the woods.

He did not act immediately. He merely rubbed some ash into his palm, then patted his pant leg as though judging the wind direction.

He knew tonight was not about "having a meal," nor was it about competing over who could cook better. It was a behavioral rehearsal for simulated enclosed survival.

Inside the Ta, no one would teach you how to cook, and no one would remind you whether there was water to boil. You had to think for yourself, judge for yourself, and swallow the bite you made yourself—regardless of how it tasted.

He headed toward the other side of the woods without bringing firestarter or taking a pot. He knew he did not need to "set up a stove" right away.

Meanwhile, the main group had already begun moving.

"Killua, you can't cook, can you?" Gon squatted beside the woodpile, rummaging through dry branches.

"I know a little," Killua said with a frown. "But don't expect it to taste like anything."

"How about we find some mushrooms and wild vegetables?" Leorio suggested, craning his neck toward the forest. "Is there a water source nearby?"

Kurapika was arranging the fire setup without even lifting his head. "The mountain wind is unstable. We need to control the flame's direction, or the fire beneath the pot will go out quickly."

Gon suddenly clapped his hands. "Oh, right! We can use the leftover eggshells and egg liquid from earlier! I saved some!"

"Are you a pig..." Killua could not help mocking him.

They bickered noisily, but the atmosphere was lively.

Elsewhere, Ryan bent down and moved aside a loose stone. Beneath a damp layer of moss, he found several short, wild onion-like plants. He gently pulled out their roots and smelled them. The scent was faintly pungent and sweet, so he identified them as members of the Forest Onion family.

He also found two Gray-backed Long-legged Bugs beneath a piece of rotten wood—ground-dwelling insects with exceptionally high protein content. They could be stir-fried or minced and steamed.

He wrapped the bugs in a broad leaf and gently pressed it shut with a stone shard. Then he scraped out a small clean patch of ground, finely chopped the forest onions in his iron bowl, mixed them with muddy rainwater into a viscous slurry, and dropped the wrapped bugs into it.

Ten minutes later, he returned to the bonfire, took an unclaimed pot, stacked stove stones, and lit a fire.

As the charcoal fire rose, he poured the muddy onion mixture into the pot and slowly stirred it over the heat.

At first, there was barely any smell. But once the bug shells had steamed through and oil floated to the surface, the firelight revealed a layer of thick broth with amber reflections in the pot.

The fragrance was faint, yet deep, like bone broth simmered too long, or rock algae boiled in an afternoon mountain spring. But the moment you smelled it, you knew this pot of food was edible.

Ryan tore open a leaf to make a bowl, ladled half the soup into it, and took a small sip.

"Too bland," he assessed.

But right after that, he took another sip.

"...Still, it's barely drinkable."

A faint expression appeared on his face, as though he was satisfied, or perhaps simply certain.

What you ate tonight was not important. How you ate, how you made it, and how you regarded food—that was the real answer.

One by one, the pots before the bonfires were put away. The examinees served their food into wooden bowls or, like Ryan, used leaves as bowls, then lined up to place them on the long table beside the platform.

The Association staff member responsible for tasting ambled over. He was a red-faced middle-aged man in a tank top, with a sizable belly and his hair tied into a small knot at the back of his head.

"My name is Kosaka, and I'm tonight's taste tester," he said. "No scores, no eliminations, but—I'll remember how your food tasted."

Some people chuckled. Others held their breath.

Kosaka lifted the first bowl. It was a simple soup made from mixed mushrooms and fried eggshells.

"Whose is this?"

A young examinee raised his hand.

He took a sip and nodded. "Not bad, but you didn't wash the dirt off your mushrooms. There's sand in every bite."

The next serving was Gon's.

It contained leftover egg yolk, chopped onions, and mashed wild fruit pressed out with a stone pot. He had boiled them into a thick soup, grayish-yellow in color and sticky on the surface.

"You made this?" Kosaka looked at him.

"Yep!"

"You put effort into it." He took a sip and frowned. "But you tried a little too hard. It tastes like dried sauce."

"Oh..." Gon scratched his head and smiled.

The third bowl was Leorio's.

It was a pot of stewed bugs, eggshells, and wild grass. The broth was black, and its smell was pungent.

Kosaka took one sip. His expression froze for three seconds before he turned and spat behind a nearby tree.

"Who made this?"

Leorio raised his hand, his face already burning red. "I-I tried... It's not my fault. Those bugs really stink."

"You're risking your life with this." Kosaka shook his head. "Forget the taste. At least you dared to eat it."

"This isn't for judging. I made it for myself to eat," he said with a grin, licking his fingertips.

Kurapika's dish, meanwhile, was the neatest—several stalks of wild celery stewed with egg whites, paired with dried mountain fruit slices. It was carefully arranged, with pale, delicate colors.

Kosaka took a sip, and his eyes brightened slightly.

"Though the flavor is mild, this combination makes you want to keep drinking."

He drank as he spoke, until he reached the last bowl.

It was a slightly yellow soup of bug paste stewed with forest onions, carrying a pale gray sheen.

There was no plating and no decoration. The leaf merely served as a base for the bowl. The bug shells had cracked apart, but there was no fishy odor, and a thin layer of oil shimmered on the surface.

"Whose is this?" he asked.

Ryan slowly raised his hand.

Kosaka took a sip, then raised an eyebrow without saying anything.

"Hmm..."

He glanced at Ryan without revealing any emotion and merely said, "This flavor... is all right."

He set down the bowl without further comment, nodded, and left.

Ryan took the soup back to his bonfire and drank the rest of it, one mouthful at a time.

Netero stood at the edge of the platform with his arms folded, quietly watching the examinees eat their own dinners.