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'…' Thought
"…" speech
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After nailing the superhero landing—knees bent, one hand on the ground, the other dramatically outstretched—we dusted ourselves off and took in our new surroundings. A long, dimly lit underground hall stretched before us, filled with roughly 200 other participants. Some looked like seasoned warriors, others like they wandered in from a back-alley deal gone wrong. Most of them, however, had one thing in common: they were staring at us like we were lost kindergarteners who had somehow wandered into a bar fight.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
"Are those kids?"
"How the hell did they get here?"
"Did they fall from the ceiling?"
"Where are their parents?"
"Wait… are we even allowed to beat up kids in this?"
Then came the best part—one particularly large, bald, mustache-wielding man in a fur coat stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. He towered over us like a sentient fridge and sneered.
"Well, well, what do we have here? A couple of milk drinkers trying to play with the big boys?"
I sighed. I had seen enough anime and cliché action movies in my past life to know exactly where this was going. But before I could say anything, I saw Ging's face light up like a Christmas tree.
Oh no.
I swiftly clamped a hand over his mouth before he could say something that would get us turned into human punching bags.
"Gmph?! Mphm-mmph!" Ging tried to protest, his voice muffled against my palm.
"Shhh. Let me handle this." I smiled at the mustache guy. "Sir, I deeply apologize. My friend here has a severe medical condition—"
Ging licked my palm.
"—GROSS! You little—!" I wiped my hand on his shirt while he grinned like an absolute menace.
The mustache guy narrowed his eyes. "What medical condition?"
I cleared my throat. "Severe Dumbass Syndrome. Tragically, it's incurable."
Ging dramatically gasped. "I have what now? Since when?"
"Since birth, obviously."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?! Is there a cure?"
I shot him a flat look. "Yeah, it's called 'shutting up,' but unfortunately, you're allergic."
Ging crossed his arms. "Pfft. I don't believe you. I'd like a second opinion from a licensed professional."
I gestured vaguely at the mustache guy. "Sure, ask him. He's about to give you a free dental checkup anyway."
Mustache Guy just stood there, staring between us like he wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or concerned for our mental health.
"I have a question for you," Ging suddenly said, pointing at the man.
"...What?"
"Are you naturally bald, or do you shave it? Because if it's natural, I gotta say, it's got a nice shine. You could blind a man with that."
I smacked my forehead. "That's exactly what I was trying to avoid."
The crowd was now fully invested. Some laughed, some looked at us like we were insane, and others were simply confused as hell.
"Are they serious?"
"That spiky-haired one has a death wish."
"They're either stupid or stupidly confident."
"I'd bet on both."
The mustache guy looked between the two of us and then… stepped back. "Tch. Whatever. Ain't worth my time."
Ging beamed. "Wow, that was easy. I was totally expecting him to take a swing at me."
I exhaled, finally releasing my grip on him. "Yeah, and if he did, I'd have let him."
"No, you wouldn't."
"...No, I wouldn't."
With the immediate danger out of the way, we took a moment to glance around at the other participants. A mix of professionals, weirdos, and suspiciously normal-looking people. Some wore full suits, others battle gear, and at least one person looked like they hadn't showered in months.
We definitely stuck out. Two eleven-year-olds with no visible weapons, no intimidating auras, just a cocky attitude and an absurd ability to annoy people.
"So, what now?" Ging asked, rocking on his heels.
I glanced at the only person in the room who looked remotely official—the tall, thin examiner standing by the far wall, checking his stopwatch. "Now? We wait for the next poor soul to underestimate us."
Ging smirked. "Oh, that won't take long."
I sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Just then, a short man with a bean-shaped head waddled over to us, holding a box full of badges. He barely came up to our waists, but his presence somehow felt official.
"You two," he said in a no-nonsense tone, handing each of us a circular badge. "These are your numbers. Keep them on you at all times."
I glanced at mine. 212.
Ging looked at his. 213.
For a second, everything was fine. Peaceful. Normal.
Then Ging's eye twitched. "Wait a damn minute."
Here we go.
"Why is he 212 and I'm 213?" Ging demanded, pointing at me like I'd personally committed a crime against humanity. "I got here first!"
The bean-headed man sighed. "The numbers are assigned randomly—"
"Randomly?!" Ging gasped, scandalized. "You expect me to believe that? You're telling me it's just a coincidence that he—" he jabbed a thumb at me, "—gets 212 while I get 213?!"
I shrugged. "Sounds fair to me."
"It's not fair! I should be 212!"
"I dunno, man, 212 just feels right, you know? Like it belongs to me."
Ging clenched his fists dramatically. "You absolute— bean man! Tell him to switch!"
The examiner ignored him and walked away.
Ging turned back to me with narrowed eyes. "Trade me."
"Nah."
"Trade me!"
"No."
"You don't even care about the number!"
"I do now. Because you care about it."
"Unbelievable!" Ging threw his hands in the air. "I'm stuck with an inferior number because my so-called best friend enjoys my suffering!"
I gave him a thoughtful look. "Enjoy is a strong word. I thrive on it."
Before Ging could tackle me to the ground, a rotund man with a permanently smug expression waddled up to us, his arms crossed.
"Well, well," the man said with an overly friendly grin. "I see you two are full of energy."
I instantly recognized him. Tompa. The so-called "Rookie Killer." The guy who's been failing the exam for years just so he can mess with first-timers.
Ging, on the other hand, had no idea. Which meant this was about to be hilarious.
"The name's Tompa," he said, puffing out his chest. "You kids sure are brave entering the Hunter Exam at your age. It's a dangerous world out there, you know."
Ging beamed up at him. "Wow! Thanks, mister! You must be a really nice guy!"
I barely held in my laughter. Oh, he's already playing with him.
Tompa grinned wider, completely unaware of the trap he was walking into. "Of course! I always help out rookies like you. Here—" He pulled out a couple of soda cans from his pack. "You must be thirsty after all that arguing. Have a drink, on me."
I took one look at the cans and immediately knew they were tampered with. Classic Rookie Killer move.
I was about to decline, but Ging snatched both cans before I could say a word. "Wow, thanks! I'm soooo thirsty!"
Tompa's smile grew wider. "Go on, drink up!"
Ging popped one open, sniffed it, and took a tiny sip. Then his eyes lit up. "OH WOW! This is the best soda I've ever had!"
Tompa's grin faltered. "...Huh?"
"I mean it! I've never tasted something this amazing!" Ging turned to me, waving the other can. "Insert! You have to try this!"
I crossed my arms, raising a brow. "Oh really?"
"Oh yeah!" Ging nodded enthusiastically. "In fact… you know what? I can't just keep this to myself. I gotta share it."
Before Tompa could react, Ging spun on his heel and hurled the soda can into the crowd.
"HEY, EVERYONE!" he shouted. "FREE DRINKS COURTESY OF TOMPA!"
The can sailed through the air and smacked some poor guy in the back of the head before bouncing to the floor, spraying liquid everywhere.
The room went silent.
Tompa's face went pale. "W-Wait—"
Too late.
Another participant picked up the can, suspiciously sniffed it, then glared at Tompa. "You trying to poison us, Rookie Killer?"
The crowd started murmuring, and in seconds, at least ten people were rounding on Tompa, cracking their knuckles.
Ging turned back to me, grinning like a maniac. "Man, I love making new friends."
I sighed, shaking my head. "You're a menace."
Tompa, now visibly sweating, turned back to us. "You little—!"
Ging gasped, looking hurt. "What? I was just sharing! Sharing is caring, right, Tompa?"
Tompa twitched.
I patted Ging's shoulder. "Good work, buddy. You successfully made an enemy in record time."
Ging grinned. "I aim to please."
As Tompa tried to escape the angry mob now converging on him, I realized one thing:
This exam was going to be fun.
Two Hours Later…
I sighed, adjusting my sunglasses and slipping my headphones over my ears.
The exam was already proving to be exhausting, but not for the reasons you'd expect. No, I wasn't tired because of the physical challenge or the mental stress. I was tired because I had to babysit Ging.
Or, rather, I chose not to.
I decided to just let him run wild while I tuned him out with music. Best decision I made all day.
Unfortunately, that didn't mean I couldn't still hear the occasional shouting match in the background.
"HEY, QUIT MESSING AROUND, BRAT!"
"Oh no, my bad, I thought this was your mother's cave! I was just making myself at home!"
"YOU LITTLE—!"
Another voice: "STOP STEALING MY FOOD!"
"Borrowing! I borrowed it! You can have it back when I'm done digesting!"
"THAT'S NOT HOW BORROWING WORKS!"
I sighed again. I should've gotten noise-canceling headphones.
From what little attention I did spare, it seemed like Tompa had become Ging's new favorite plaything. The poor man had been at his wit's end for a while now. I half expected him to quit the exam on the spot just to get away.
Eventually, the examiner finally decided to step in before Ging could cause a full-scale riot.
The guy was thin, sharp-eyed, and honestly looked a lot like Kite, but something about him screamed enhancer.
He cleared his throat, getting everyone's attention. "Listen up," he said, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "My name is Lark. I'll be overseeing the first phase of this exam."
Ging nudged me. "Lark? Sounds like a bird. You think he eats worms?"
I kept my gaze forward. "Ging, I swear—"
Lark continued, ignoring us. "You're currently inside the Worm's Cave. Genat Worms make their home here. They're large, aggressive, and very territorial."
At that, several participants tensed up.
"As for your test," Lark went on, "it's simple. You have two choices: You can either follow me or you can find your own way out. The exit is approximately two hours of running speed north. Your time limit is four hours. Anyone who makes it out before then will pass to the next round."
A few people exchanged uneasy glances.
One guy raised his hand. "What happens if we get caught by a worm?"
Lark smiled. "Then you fail. And also probably die. But mostly fail."
Some nervous muttering spread through the group.
Ging, on the other hand, raised his hand excitedly. "Question!"
Lark looked at him, unamused. "Yes?"
"If we tame the worms, do we get to keep them?"
The entire room went silent.
Lark stared. "…What?"
"You know," Ging continued, unfazed, "if I successfully domesticate a worm, can I ride it around? Maybe give it a cool name like 'Wormy the Conqueror' or something?"
Lark blinked. "Why—? No. Absolutely not."
Ging snapped his fingers. "Damn. Would've been cool."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Ging, why are you like this?"
Ging shrugged. "It's my hatsu."
"No, it's not."
Lark cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. "Anyway. There are 343 condidates You have your instructions. The test starts… now."
At that, he turned and began jogging at a steady pace, leading the group through the dark tunnel.
Most of the applicants immediately followed.
Ging and I, however, took our time.
"Hey," Ging said, nudging me again. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"No, because I don't willingly think like an idiot."
Ging smirked. "We should split up and take the shortcut."
I raised a brow. "You mean the shortcut that's in the opposite direction of where the examiner is going?"
"Exactly."
"You do realize that's probably the most dangerous path, right?"
Ging shrugged. "Eh. Risk builds character."
"You don't need more character, Ging. You need therapy."
"Maybe! But until then, let's take the fun route!"
I sighed, but before I could argue, we both heard something behind us.
A certain someone was wheezing in rage.
It was Tompa.
"YOU—!" he gasped, pointing a shaky finger at Ging. "I SWEAR TO GOD, I'M GONNA—!"
Ging's face lit up. "Oh hey, it's you! Wow, I thought you gave up already!"
Tompa's face turned purple. "I CAN'T QUIT UNTIL I WATCH YOU FAIL!"
Ging put a hand over his heart, looking touched. "Aw, buddy. That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me!"
Tompa growled. "I hate you so much."
"Aw, I hate you too!" Ging grinned. "It's mutual!"
At this point, a few other participants were slowing down to watch. I could see a mix of amusement and secondhand exhaustion on their faces.
One guy whispered, "Is that kid trying to make enemies?"
Another replied, "I don't know, but it's working."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Why am I associated with you?"
"Because you love me," Ging said confidently.
"I assure you, I do not."
"You do, though."
"I do not."
Tompa, still fuming, stomped up to us. "I don't know how you've survived this long, brat, but I will be the one to put you in your place!"
Ging grinned. "Ooooh, is that a threat?"
"YES!"
Ging gasped. "Oh no! I'm so scared!"
Tompa cracked his knuckles. "You should be."
Then Ging smirked. "You know, if you really wanted me to lose, you could've just let me take badge 212 instead."
Tompa blinked. "What?"
"Yeah, man," Ging said with a dramatic sigh. "This whole thing is just bad karma for screwing me out of my rightful badge number."
"You—WHAT?! Mine is 26 That has NOTHING to do with—!"
"Wow. Denial is a hell of a drug."
"I'M GONNA—!"
"Okay, let's run now," I muttered, grabbing Ging by the collar and dragging him forward before Tompa could actually commit a crime.
Ging cackled as I hauled him away. "Awww, but we were bonding!"
"No ,you were not" I grumbled, picking up the pace.
The sounds of Tompa's continued screaming faded into the distance as we ran deeper into the tunnel.
And as much as I'd never admit it to Ging…
I was having fun