--------------------------------------------------------
'…' Thought
"…" speech
----------------------------------------------------------
So, let's just say that Ging and Cluck, aka "the pigeon lady," immediately started bickering like an old married couple who had just discovered they had wildly different opinions on pineapple pizza. It lasted for a solid two minutes—though to be honest, it felt like two hours.
Cluck, for her part, seemed to have made it her personal mission to put Ging in his place. Ging, on the other hand, had made it his mission to be as annoying as humanly possible. The insults ranged from mild jabs about Cluck's choice of outfit ("Do you wake yourself up in the morning by crowing in the mirror?") to downright philosophical debates about whether she came first ,or just laid eggs directly
I stood there, watching, questioning my life choices. The other remaining contestants—who were already exhausted from the last test—stood awkwardly nearby, some pretending to stretch, others trying their best to ignore the chaos. One guy sighed so hard I thought he might pass out from sheer frustration.
Just when I thought I might have to physically pry Ging and Cluck apart, salvation arrived in the form of an airplane. A real, hot air balloon airplane. It swooped down and parked beside us as smoothly as if this were a scheduled stop on some bizarre hunter exam tour.
Cluck, finally tearing her attention away from her war with Ging, gestured dramatically toward the aircraft and announced, "Alright, listen up, you scrubs. This plane is taking you to the second phase of the exam."
There was a moment of collective relief—until she smirked and added, "Not that it matters much. You lot are the weakest batch I've ever seen. Honestly, I'm surprised any of you are still standing."
Silence.
Now, normally, you'd expect some people to get offended, maybe protest, or at least try to defend their honor. But here's the thing: she wasn't wrong.
We weren't even in the second phase yet, and somehow, our numbers had dwindled to a measly 53. Fifty-three! Out of how many? Hundreds? Thousands? I wasn't even sure anymore. At this rate, the final phase might end up being a one-on-one duel with an empty chair.
Ging, of course, took the insult in stride. "Weakest group ever? Pfft. You say that like it's a bad thing. Maybe we're just efficient. Natural selection at work."
Cluck pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something about "having to deal with this idiot again."
Meanwhile, the rest of us just exchanged glances, shrugged, and silently climbed onto the plane, accepting our fate. If this was the weakest group ever, then so be it. At least we were still in the game.
For now.
Ten minutes into the flight, I made a horrifying discovery—Ging and Cluck were actually getting along.
Not just tolerating each other. Not just trading sarcastic insults. Genuinely chatting and laughing together.
Ging, drink in hand, was gesturing wildly as he recounted some absurd story, while Cluck—Cluck, of all people!—chuckled along like they were old drinking buddies.
I stared in silent horror.
This confirmed one of my long-standing theories: Anyone who can genuinely get along with Ging is an unhinged, dangerous individual.
I mean, sure, Cluck already seemed a little unhinged, but this? This was next-level. This was villain origin story material.
Deciding I'd had enough of reality for one day, I pulled out my sunglasses and settled into my seat, preparing to mentally check out for the rest of the ride. Time to watch KONOSUBA and relate to Kazuma's suffering. I mean, at least he had Aqua, and, despite her being a walking disaster, she was at least nice to look at. Meanwhile, I had Ging, who was like a living embodiment of bad life choices with zero regrets.
One hour later, my brief escape into anime was violently interrupted.
Cluck had dumped us—quite literally—into a pit.
I barely had time to register my surroundings before she stood above us, looking down with an expression that was way too smug for my liking.
"Alright, you bunch of weaklings," she called out. "Here's how this works: You need to collect five badges before sunrise. Get five, and you move on to the next phase. If you want to surrender, you can either leave the pit before the signal or show up at the end with less than five."
Simple, right?
Of course not.
"Also," she continued, "at least two of your badges must have even numbers. That means you need a combination that includes pairs like 2, 4, 6, etc. If you show up with only odd numbers, you're out."
Cue the collective groan of contestants who had long since given up on trying to understand the Hunter Exam's weird sense of logic.
"See you at sunrise—if any of you survive that long!" Cluck added cheerfully before hopping back into the plane and leaving us to fend for ourselves.
Silence.
Then Ging stretched, cracked his knuckles, and said, "Well, that was a lot of information. Let's ignore it completely and just wing it."
This was going to be a long night.
As soon as Cluck's plane disappeared into the sky, silence fell over the pit.
Fifty-three contestants. Five badges each. A massive, open hunting ground.
The first few minutes were like an uneasy truce. Everyone was assessing each other, calculating strengths and weaknesses. Then, someone broke the silence with a reckless charge.
And all hell broke loose.
Ging and I barely had time to step back before the first brawl erupted near us. Some guy in a green jumpsuit lunged at another contestant, only to get drop-kicked into the dirt. Another fighter tried to steal a badge mid-air—only for a third person to snatch it from them before they even landed.
It was absolute anarchy.
"Alright," I muttered. "So, do we—"
Ging had already walked off.
"Ging—!?"
"Don't worry, just gonna go steal some badges real quick," he said, waving me off.
Sigh. Typical.
I didn't have time to argue. Someone had noticed me standing still and decided I looked like an easy target.
Big mistake.
The moment they lunged, I sidestepped, grabbed their arm, and used their own momentum to slam them face-first into the dirt. Their badge popped loose, and I grabbed it before they could react.
Meanwhile, Ging had already found a group of three contestants who were fighting over badges.
Instead of fighting them, he just casually walked up to the strongest-looking one and said:
"Hey, you look like you'd be fun to fight. Mind if I have a warm-up?"
That was all it took. The guy grinned, cracked his knuckles, and lunged at Ging with full force—only for Ging to effortlessly dodge every single attack while yawning.
"Come on, I thought you'd at least try to hit me," Ging teased.
The guy's face turned red with frustration. He roared, charging again.
Ging sidestepped. The guy tripped.
Ging stole his badge mid-fall.
"Welp, that was fun. Thanks for the donation."
He walked off while the guy was still trying to figure out what had just happened.
Within the first hour, the pit had thinned out drastically.
Ging had already collected four badges without breaking a sweat. I had three, but I was covered in dirt and sweat from actually having to fight for mine.
"Alright, we just need a couple more," I said, leaning against a rock. "So what's the plan?"
Ging looked around, thinking. Then he grinned.
"We become the hunters."
Now, the normal approach would have been to ambush others for their badges. But no, Ging had a different idea.
We let everyone know we had enough badges.
Then, we ran.
Immediately, a group of contestants started chasing us, thinking they'd hit the jackpot.
"Any reason why we're encouraging people to hunt us?" I panted as we sprinted through the pit.
"Yeah," Ging said, grinning. "Because I don't feel like chasing people. Much easier to let them come to us."
I wanted to argue, but before I could, we reached a clearing surrounded by steep cliffs. A perfect trap.
We turned to face our pursuers—five contestants, each desperate for a final badge.
"You take the two on the left," Ging said, stretching his arms. "I'll handle the rest."
I barely had time to protest before the fight began.
One of my opponents threw a knife. I dodged, but the second guy was already closing in with a punch. I ducked, grabbed his arm, and twisted, flipping him onto his back.
The knife thrower panicked and lunged forward wildly. I sidestepped and swept his legs out from under him.
Two badges. Mine.
Meanwhile, Ging…
Well, Ging had stolen all three of his opponents' badges before they even realized they'd lost.
"How—?" one of them stammered.
Ging just winked and walked off.
With our five badges each, we finally stopped running. The sky was beginning to lighten. The exam was nearly over.
Survivors slowly began making their way to the exit. Out of 53, only 9 of us remained.
As we approached the finish line, I turned to Ging.
"You know, for all that nonsense, this was actually kind of fun."
"Of course," Ging said. "Everything is fun if you don't think too hard about it."
I rolled my eyes.
As the sun rose, we stepped out of the pit—ready for whatever the next phase had in store.
The plane ride was significantly better this time—not because of the company, but because they actually gave us food.
Steak. Rice. Even dessert.
"Finally," I muttered, biting into a piece of perfectly grilled meat. "They figured out that starving us before a survival test might not be the best idea."
Ging, of course, was already on his second plate. Across from us, Cluck was calmly drinking tea, though she seemed slightly too pleased with herself.
"By the way," she said, setting down her cup, "you lot should be grateful. Any one of you nine can automatically pass the first phase of the next Hunter Exam if you fail this one."
A murmur went through the group—some sounded grateful, others outright annoyed.
"What, so we're just charity cases now?" one guy grumbled.
Cluck smirked. "It's not charity, it's compensation. Let's be honest—most of you won't make it."
That shut everyone up.
I glanced at Ging, expecting him to start an argument. Instead, he was twirling his fork, deep in thought. That was concerning.
"Hey," I muttered. "What's with that look?"
"Oh, nothing," he said. "Just thinking about what kind of trouble I can cause at the next stop."
I sighed. Why do I even ask?
They took us to a small dojo—a traditional wooden building with sliding doors and a strong scent of incense. Inside, sitting cross-legged on a cushion, was none other than Chairman Netero himself.
Despite his age, the man radiated presence. His eyes, sharp and amused, studied each of us like he was picking apart our very souls.
Then his gaze settled on Ging.
"You're from Whale Island, right?" Netero asked, stroking his beard.
Ging's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Dad?"
Silence.
Several heads turned so fast I thought someone might get whiplash.
Even Netero paused, mid-stroke of his beard, blinking in slow confusion. "...What?"
"I've been looking for you, Father," Ging continued, voice full of false emotion. "You abandoned us. Left my poor mother in tears."
Gasps.
Whispers.
One contestant actually started calling Netero a deadbeat of a father.
"I—" Netero opened his mouth, but Ging kept going.
"Do you even know what it was like growing up without you? Every birthday, I sat by the ocean, waiting for you to return. But you never did."
I covered my face. He's going to get us killed.
One guy in the back muttered, "Man, this old man's kinda messed up."
Netero sighed. "Alright, that's enough of that."
He stood up.
And then he absolutely beat the crap out of Ging.
I'd seen Ging dodge attacks like a ghost before, but against Netero? He barely had time to blink before he was sent flying across the dojo.
CRASH!
Ging groaned from inside a broken wall. "Okay… maybe I took that one a bit too far."
Netero cracked his knuckles. "You done?"
Ging gave him a thumbs-up from the debris. "Yep. Deadbeat confirmed."
More murmurs. Netero sighed. "I should've hit you harder."
After the incident, we were led to a separate room, where each of us got to speak with Netero one-on-one.
I had no idea what Ging said to him, but when he walked out, Netero looked both amused and concerned—a rare combination.
Then it was my turn.
I sat across from Netero, who studied me carefully.
"So," he said, "why do you want to become a Hunter?"
I thought about it. I could give a generic answer. But somehow, I felt like Netero would see through anything less than the truth.
"I want adventure," I admitted. "I want to see things most people never get to see. Do things that shouldn't be possible. A normal life sounds… boring, and then probably retire young why younger than you are now"
Netero smiled. "Fair enough. But tell me—what happens when adventure isn't fun anymore?"
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When you're standing at the edge of something truly terrifying. When the danger outweighs the thrill. Will you keep going?"
I thought about it.
Then I smiled. "Of course."
Netero laughed. "Good answer."
He leaned back. "Alright, you pass."
I blinked. "Wait, was this a test?"
He just chuckled. "Every conversation is a test, in its own way."
-------------
Netero's POV
As the last candidate left the room, Netero folded his hands in thought.
Most of them had potential, but a few stood out—especially Ging.
He had met many strange people in his time. But Ging?
Ging was a special kind of problem.
The way he provoked people just to see how they'd react. The way he dodged responsibility as easily as he dodged punches. The way he laughed even after getting beaten half to death.
Yes. Ging was going to be trouble.
And that made him very interesting.
But Ging wasn't the only one who caught his attention.
There was Insert.
Unlike Ging, who thrived on chaos, Insert had an analytical mind. They processed situations carefully, testing limits before making decisions. Even in the short conversation they had, Insert had approached the discussion with thoughtfulness—something Netero valued in a Hunter.
Yet, there was something else.
Insert had a spark of fearlessness—not in the reckless way Ging did, but in the way of someone who had already made peace with the idea of risk. Someone who wouldn't freeze when it truly mattered.
"Hmm…" Netero mused, stroking his beard.
That made Insert particularly dangerous.
Because people like that? They didn't just survive.
They changed things.
Perhaps it was time to keep a closer eye on both of them.
Netero chuckled to himself. "This year's exam might be more fun than I expected."
Still, Netero couldn't help but chuckle. "Calling me 'Dad,' huh?"
Maybe try to keep an extra closer eye on that one.