The low, steady thrum of the airship's engines shifted, a subtle change in vibration felt more than heard. Then, Zest Childress's cheerful voice came over the intercom, cutting through the low murmur of the forty remaining applicants. "Alright, successful forty! Prepare for descent! We are approaching our drop-off point for the Third Phase. Please prepare to disembark shortly!"
A ripple of renewed anticipation went through the cabin. Applicants stirred, gathering their belongings, their faces a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Curiosity piqued, I joined several other applicants peering out the windows as the airship began its descent. Below us, the golden expanse of the desert quickly gave way to a sprawling landscape that seemed to stretch to the horizon – a vast metropolis, a breathtaking panorama of towering skyscrapers that scraped the clouds, bustling streets that looked like intricate canyons from this height, and complex networks of elevated roads and monorails weaving between buildings. It was a dizzying display of urban scale and complexity, a stark, almost overwhelming contrast to the quiet, natural life on Ryujinshima or even the relative bustle of the port towns I'd recently visited. The sheer size of it was astonishing, a testament to the world beyond our island.
As we descended further, the city hummed with a palpable energy, a low roar of distant traffic and unseen activity that reached even through the airship's walls. My eyes scanned the cityscape, searching for distinguishing features, notable landmarks in the concrete jungle, until they locked onto one particular building. It wasn't the tallest, overshadowed by true giants of steel and glass, but it dominated its section of the skyline with an undeniable presence, instantly recognizable by the unique emblem emblazoned near its peak – the symbol of the Hunter Association: two stark, overlapping X's.
The realization hit me with the force of a physical jolt, pulling a sharp, surprised breath from my lungs. Swardani City. This was Swardani City. The very heart, the global headquarters of the Hunter Association. A surge of confusion went through me, warring with a rising sense of intrigue. Why bring us here, to the HA headquarters city, so early in the exam? This location often featured later in the exams I remembered, often as the site for the final phase or orientation. It felt too soon, with 40 applicants still remaining. Was this the end already? Surely not. Confusion warred with anticipation.
The airship landed smoothly at what seemed to be a private terminal adjacent to the city's main airport, the transition from flight to ground almost imperceptible. As the forty of us disembarked onto the tarmac, blinking in the bright, unfiltered city sunlight that felt different from the desert sun, we were met by a figure whose appearance was startlingly, almost comically, familiar from countless clear images in my memory of Chairman Netero's various public appearances. Small, impeccably neat, green-skinned, dressed sharply in a dark suit that seemed perfectly tailored despite his unusual proportions, with large, round, intelligent eyes – it was Beans, Chairman Netero's personal secretary.
He stood waiting for us, an air of quiet efficiency about him. As we gathered, dusting ourselves off and adjusting to the sudden return to solid ground, Beans stepped forward, his voice polite and precise, carrying surprisingly well over the distant airport noise. "Greetings, applicants," he said, his tone businesslike but not unkind. "I am Beans, from the Hunter Association Personnel Department." He paused, his gaze sweeping over our group. "The proctor for the Third Phase has a rather… demanding schedule today." A slight, almost imperceptible sigh seemed to escape him, a brief flicker of something akin to weariness in his otherwise composed demeanor. "Therefore, I have been tasked with the responsibility of escorting you to the testing location where he awaits."
He led us efficiently across the tarmac towards the waiting area, where two large, unmarked buses sat idling, their dark windows reflecting the bright sky. Association personnel, identifiable by their discreet badges pinned to their lapels and their air of quiet competence, stood by the buses, directing us. "Twenty applicants per bus, please," one instructed politely but firmly. Our group of forty was split evenly, a silent division before the next test.
The short drive through Swardani's wide, clean streets was eye-opening. The scale of the city was immense, the buildings rising around us like artificial mountains. The Hunter Association's influence felt subtly visible even in the city's infrastructure – the efficiency of the traffic flow, the clean lines of the architecture, an underlying sense of order. It was a powerful, impressive city. Our destination, however, wasn't the imposing headquarters tower I'd spotted from the air, but a massive, modern gymnasium complex nearby, a sprawling low-rise building made of glass and steel that seemed to cover several city blocks.
We were filed from the buses directly into the gymnasium's main arena – a vast, brightly lit space that swallowed the forty of us easily. It boasted polished wooden floors that gleamed under powerful overhead lights and spectator seating rising high on all sides, currently empty. The sheer scale of the room felt like another, silent declaration from the Exam.
Standing impassively in the exact center of the massive floor was a man whose presence immediately dwarfed everyone else in the room, including the stoic Association staff lining the walls. He wasn't just tall; he was a giant, easily over seven feet, his immense physique speaking of raw, controlled power contained within a frame built for force. His skin had a strange, scale-like texture, catching the light in odd, almost metallic ways, and his features held an almost reptilian cast, particularly his piercing, intelligent eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Yet, despite the draconic undertones and the sheer intimidating size, his posture was one of utter calm, almost perfect stillness, like a mountain that simply existed. Botobai Gigante, I recognized him instantly from my clear memory of the series. The Dragon of the Zodiac Twelve. My internal reaction was a mix of genuine awe at his physical presence and a wry, recurring thought: This day really is just a parade of cameos, isn't it? First Tonpa, now a Zodiac. Who's next, maybe Chairman Netero will pop in for a cup of tea?
My passive Nen perception registered his presence not as leaking aura, but as an immense, quiet density in the air around him. It was staggering – powerful, ancient-feeling, yet contained with absolute perfection, like a slumbering volcano that chose not to erupt. It was beautiful in its sheer, controlled intensity, utterly different from Zest Childress's bright, cheerful, but comparatively shallow aura. Side-by-side, the contrast in their power felt almost laughable, and I felt a strange surge of sympathy for Zest's unenviable position as his fellow proctor. Botobai's presence was on another level entirely, a true master.
He addressed us, his voice surprisingly soft for his size, yet deep and resonant, carrying effortlessly across the vast space and commanding immediate, silent attention without needing to shout. "Welcome. I am Botobai Gigante," he stated calmly, omitting any mention of his Zodiac position – that was knowledge for those already in the know. "Triple-Star Terrorist Hunter. I will be your proctor for this phase."
He gestured broadly around the empty gymnasium with one massive hand. "My schedule is… demanding," he echoed Beans' earlier sentiment, a faint, almost human weariness touching his deep voice, a subtle crack in the facade of immense power. "Therefore, let us make this straightforward, for your benefit and mine." His gaze swept across us, sharp and assessing, missing no one. "Your test is simple: free-for-all combat."
A ripple of tension, sharp and immediate, went through the applicants. Free-for-all. Forty people, all competing directly against each other.
"Your goal," Botobai continued, his voice unchanging, "is to acquire the numbered badges of your fellow applicants." He indicated the badges we all wore prominently on our chests or clothes. "Once your badge is removed from your person, by any means, you are eliminated. You will then leave the gymnasium immediately via the designated exits along the walls." His eyes hardened slightly, the draconic intensity increasing. "Failure to leave promptly after elimination will result in… forceful removal by Association personnel, and a permanent ban from all future Hunter Exams. Understood?"
A tense, tight silence confirmed his words. No one spoke, but a collective knot of apprehension formed in the center of the room.
"The test concludes," he finished, "only when fewer than five applicants remain with their badges intact." He then sighed, a sound barely audible, almost imperceptible, murmuring under his breath, "...honestly, proctoring duties with three international summits next week…" A flicker of genuine, unexpected sympathy went through me for the incredibly busy, evidently put-upon man.
The tension in the gymnasium skyrocketed, becoming a physical weight in the air. Applicants instinctively shifted their weight, their eyes darting, creating distance between each other, eyeing fellow hopefuls like predators sizing up prey. Forty hopefuls, and soon, only four or fewer would remain in this vast space. The stakes were sudden and absolute.
Botobai raised one massive hand slowly, a silent signal. His calm voice, though still soft, resonated with an undeniable power that settled over the hall. "Begin!"
Chaos erupted.
It was an explosion of movement and sound that filled the vast arena – shouts of aggression, grunts of effort, the rapid thud of fists hitting bodies, the sharp scrape of shoes on the polished wooden floor. Alliances, if they even formed, shattered in seconds under the immediate pressure. Some charged recklessly, fueled by adrenaline and overconfidence, targeting perceived weaklings, often young applicants or those who looked less physically imposing. Others immediately tried to create small, defensive zones, their backs to a wall, preparing to repel assaults. The air filled with the uncontrolled energy of a desperate free-for-all.
I had no intention of joining the initial frenzy. Engaging these mostly non-Nen users directly felt… unsporting, and strategically foolish. Why waste energy on unnecessary fights? My goal was survival, observation, and conserving my strength for later, more challenging phases. I adopted a purely defensive stance, focusing entirely on evasion and redirection.
The first few applicants who targeted me – likely assuming my youth and relatively unassuming appearance made me an easy mark – found their aggressive attacks slipping past harmlessly. Their wild lunges met only empty air, their grasping hands for my badge closed on nothing. My body moved with an almost instinctive grace, a blur of controlled motion, a direct result of years spent perfecting dodging drills. A quick, precise nudge with a foot sent one off-balance. A subtle shift in weight caused another to stumble past me, his momentum carrying him into the path of a furious-looking brute. With minimal effort, using only basic physical redirection, I sent one attacker stumbling into another, effectively taking them both out of my immediate vicinity in a tangle of limbs. A sharp, non-damaging tap to a pressure point or nerve cluster with my fingers temporarily disabled another's arm just as he reached for my badge, making him recoil in surprise and pain. My movements were fluid, economical, drawing surprisingly little attention in the larger chaos after the initial probes were so effortlessly shut down. The message was clear, delivered through action: This one is not an easy target. Leave #143 alone.
Slowly, methodically, I made my way towards one of the corners of the vast gymnasium floor, allowing me a better vantage point from which to observe the unfolding battle without being constantly in the thick of it. The corner provided a natural defensive position, limiting approaches from one side. Soon, a small pocket of clear space formed around my chosen corner. No one seemed eager to approach the quiet, unassuming applicant who moved like smoke and hit with unexpected precision.
From there, I watched the brutal ballet unfold. Raw brute strength clashed with surprising agility. Clever, improvised traps were laid and sprung using the environment or other applicants. I saw one applicant use the metal bleachers, vaulting off a support beam to surprise an opponent. Another employed throws and joint locks with practiced skill, quickly incapacitating their targets. And then there was Tonpa. The man was a weasel, a survivor through sheer opportunism. He never engaged anyone strong directly, sticking to the edges of larger fights, waiting for someone to be weakened, distracted, or knocked down before making a lightning-fast grab for their badge, often succeeding through sheer audacity and perfect timing before melting back into the chaos, blending in with the crowd. He was surprisingly effective in this kind of environment, a true master of exploiting the situation.
His luck ran out eventually, though, as it often does. A small group of four rather brutish-looking applicants, perhaps victims of his earlier tricks or simply tired of his slippery presence, visibly coordinated their movements. They cornered Tonpa near the edge of the floor, cutting off his easy escape routes. Despite his pleas for understanding and frantic attempts at misdirection, they overwhelmed him in a brief, ugly flurry of blows, ripping his badge off with triumphant shouts. Tonpa was left groaning on the floor for a moment, clutching his side, before being unceremoniously hauled out by a pair of impassive Association staff. A fitting, if somewhat pathetic, end to his run in the 276th Exam. Another year, another failure for the Rookie Crusher. Some things never change.
The battle raged on, the number of active combatants dwindling rapidly as badges were taken and applicants were escorted away. The floor became littered with discarded badges and the occasional groaning figure being helped up by staff. Finally, it came down to seven exhausted but determined individuals locked in a desperate melee near the center of the floor. They traded blows, grappled, each looking for that final opening.
Then, the dynamic shifted in a heartbeat. Two of the seven, a man and a woman who had seemed throughout the phase to be fighting independently, suddenly executed a flawless, coordinated combination attack. The man, a burly individual, engaged three opponents with a furious barrage of strikes, drawing their attention and forcing them to defend, while the woman, lithe and fast, simultaneously swept the legs out from under the other two with swift, low kicks. In the ensuing confusion and momentary vulnerability, they swiftly snatched the badges from all five downed opponents before they could recover. It was a stunning display of teamwork and timing; they had been secret teammates, working together throughout the chaos, waiting for the opportune moment.
The five eliminated applicants stared in disbelief and frustration as they were escorted away, their hopes crushed in an instant. Now, only three of us remained in the vast gymnasium: myself, standing quietly in my chosen corner, and the victorious pair standing panting but triumphant in the center of the floor, clutching their collection of badges.
Botobai Gigante's calm, deep voice cut through the sudden quiet, resonating through the large space. "Stop!" He surveyed the scene before him, the scattered badges and the three remaining figures. "The required condition has been met. Fewer than five applicants remain." He looked directly at the three of us – the burly man, the swift woman, and the quiet boy in the corner. "The test is concluded."
Three left. Myself, applicant number 143, and the pair of skilled, coordinated teammates. My mind immediately started calculating the implications. Was this the final phase? Would the three of us pass automatically now? Or was there yet another proctor, another unexpected test waiting specifically for just three survivors? I met the gaze of the two teammates across the gymnasium floor – they looked at me with a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and wary assessment. A new set of questions formed as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a sharp focus. What came next in the 276th Hunter Exam?