Leorio turned his head slightly and glanced at Larry, who remained completely unfazed. Sure enough, if it came down to one winner, there was no suspense. But Netero shook his head, chuckling. "No, no, this isn't like a normal bracket. You only need to win one match to pass." A wave of relief washed over the room. "The losers of each match will continue fighting their way through the bracket. The last person who keeps losing will be eliminated from the exam entirely," Netero explained.
In other words, only one of them would fail. The remaining eight would pass. For a moment, the candidates exhaled, their tension easing. The thought of one person passing had terrified them, but with only one person eliminated, their odds were far better than before. But then reality sank in. One person still had to lose. It wouldn't be Larry. It wouldn't be Hisoka. It wouldn't be Illumi. Which meant… Whoever lost would be one of them.
Nine candidates. Eight licenses. Someone was going to walk away with nothing. And when the realization hit, everyone felt the same cold sensation creeping down their spine. Losing after making it this far was the worst possible outcome. Larry, as usual, remained indifferent. Netero continued, "One last thing. Your opponent must admit defeat verbally for you to win. If they faint, the match continues until they surrender."
The restriction was clear—killing your opponent was strictly forbidden. If someone killed their opponent, they would be disqualified, and everyone else would pass. This was the same rule that had allowed Gon to force Hanzo to surrender in the original timeline.
Compared to previous years, where only one or two Hunters typically passed, this year's test was far more forgiving. But that was only because Netero saw potential in this batch of candidates. He had witnessed enough Hunter Exams to recognize patterns. Sometimes, a year's worth of candidates were so bad that only one was allowed to pass. Other times, the talent pool was strong enough that wasting potential Hunters would be a mistake.
This year was one of the rare instances where the candidates deserved a higher passing rate. And Netero had no intention of letting good talent slip away. For several years, there hadn't been any outstanding candidates, and only a handful managed to become Hunters. Then, as if fate had been saving up its luck, an exceptional batch appeared all at once. It was strange how things worked sometimes.
After all the necessary instructions were given, the final exam officially began. The candidates stepped back, leaving the center open as the designated battle ring. From left to right, the lineup consisted of the participants, the challenge platform, President Netero and the judges, and finally, Menchi along with the other examiners.
A middle-aged referee wearing sunglasses stepped forward and announced the first match. "First round: Candidate No. 403, Larry, versus Candidate No. 53, Pokkle."
Larry, who had been casually standing to the side, raised an eyebrow. He was up first? Fine. The sooner he wrapped this up, the sooner he could focus on more important things. The progress bar in his mind for creating his Pokémon was about to reach completion, and he wanted to see the results.
He and Pokkle stepped into the ring, facing each other. Just from their expressions, it was obvious who held the advantage. Larry looked completely at ease, his thoughts drifting elsewhere, while Baku's entire body was tense. The hand gripping his bow trembled uncontrollably, as if he had some sort of nervous disorder. "You really don't want to fight me, do you?" Larry's voice was calm, almost indifferent. "Why not just admit defeat and save us both some time?" It wasn't arrogance—just a statement of fact. There were probably very few people across all six continents who could defeat him. Baku definitely wasn't one of them.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Pokkle's face. The idea of surrendering was tempting, but then he recalled everything he had endured during the exam. The humiliation, the struggles, the sheer willpower it had taken to get this far. Admitting defeat wasn't something he could bring himself to do.
Menchi, watching from the sidelines, sighed. "The president really has a twisted sense of humor. The rules are simple—just admit defeat to lose. But after everything they've been through, how many of them are actually willing to do that?"
Pokkle's internal struggle continued. He weighed his options, considering that there were weaker opponents he could face later. If he backed out now, he'd still have a chance to pass. But Larry wasn't in the mood to wait. Pokkle's pupils suddenly contracted. His body stiffened, shaking violently as cold sweat streamed down his face. It felt like his brain had short-circuited, unable to process anything except the overwhelming dread crushing down on him. His panic wasn't unique. All around, candidates reacted in shock, their expressions ranging from confusion to outright fear. The only one unaffected was Netero, who remained as composed as ever.
A massive shadow loomed behind Larry, an enormous figure radiating an aura of pure destruction. Its body gleamed with a metallic sheen, muscles rippling beneath its armor-like hide. Crimson eyes, filled with savage intent, stared out at the world as if everything before it was nothing more than an insect. For a moment, it felt like the entire arena had been swallowed by darkness. A heavy, suffocating presence pressed down on everyone, and jagged black-and-yellow patterns flickered across their vision, amplifying the eerie atmosphere.
Hanzo, the bald ninja, widened his eyes. His breathing hitched as he stared at the monstrous apparition. Now he understood. This was the terrifying presence he had sensed earlier. And it had been coming from Larry all along. Cold sweat beaded on Hanzo's head. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what he was witnessing. What was that thing? He had never encountered Nen before, so he had no idea what kind of power he was looking at. But one thing was certain—this wasn't something he wanted to mess with.
Among the candidates, Illumi Zoldyck silently took note of Larry's name and appearance. This was someone to be avoided. Someone who wasn't worth the risk. "Hoh hoh hoh, now that's impressive," Netero chuckled, amused. He gazed at the phantom beast with interest, recalling the battle he had witnessed a few days prior.
Menchi, standing beside him, exhaled softly. "With power like that, no wonder he beat him…"
Meanwhile, Pokkle was drowning in absolute terror. The pressure alone felt like a mountain had dropped onto his shoulders, crushing his will. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs wouldn't move. His mind was a chaotic mess, unable to process anything except the fear gripping his entire body. Then, in a single snap of Larry's fingers, the creature vanished. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, and the world returned to normal. Yet, no one could shake the feeling of what they had just witnessed. It was as if nothing had happened at all, just an illusion. But the cold sweat on their skin proved otherwise. "I surrender! I surrender!" Pokkle's voice broke as he stumbled back, gasping for breath like a man who had just escaped certain death. He wasn't ashamed anymore. He wasn't even disappointed. He was just relieved to be alive.