By the time the tunnel opened into open air, the relief lasted only a second before it was replaced with something heavier. The concrete ended abruptly, and their feet sank into marshland that shifted under every step. The rhythm they had relied on through the tunnel fractured as shoes slipped against wet roots and shallow pools swallowed momentum. Fog pressed low over the ground, clinging to their legs, and the air felt thick enough to breathe instead of inhale.
Satotz came to a stop and admired the view. "This is the Swindler's Swamp," he called back evenly. "Many creatures here thrive on deception. If you are deceived, you will not survive."
Leorio groaned under his breath. "Of course they do."
Kurapika's expression sharpened. "Stay alert."
Gon looked around with bright curiosity, as if the danger were part of the appeal. Kilua's posture shifted subtly; the casual edge he'd carried earlier thinned into something more precise. He had put the skateboard away.
Kitse felt the ground change before he consciously registered it. The suction of wet soil, the drag in his calves, the way sound seemed to dissolve instead of echo. He adjusted instinctively and found himself smiling.
Swindler's Swamp.
He remembered the scene from the show, he remembered how it unfolded, remembered the imitation examiner, remembered Hisoka's solution. Seeing it with his own eyes sent a quiet thrill through him. The fog, the tension, the knowledge of what was about to happen.
He was surprisingly looking forward to it.
They hadn't gone far when a figure burst from the fog ahead, stumbling toward them. Same suit. Same thin mustache. Same glasses.
"Stop!" the man shouted, panting hard. "The examiner ahead is fake. I'm the real one!"
The group faltered, momentum collapsing into confusion. Gon blinked, openly perplexed. "Huh?"
Leorio pointed between the two identical figures. "You've got to be kidding me."
The second Satotz pointed frantically toward the one still running ahead. "That thing devoured the real examiner!"
Kitse watched closely, he already knew the outcome but it felt soothing nonetheless. The real Satotz ahead maintained perfect composure and pace. The one before them tried too hard. His breathing was exaggerated. His eyes searched for validation.
It was almost endearing.
Before doubt could root itself, Hisoka stepped forward, stretching his neck slightly as if bored with the delay. "This is inconvenient," he said, tone light.
Kitse felt it before he saw it, the shift in attention, the way the crowd unconsciously parted around him.
A card flashed from Hisoka's fingers.
It sliced cleanly through the neck of the Satotz who claimed he was the real one..
Gasps erupted. Gon sucked in a sharp breath. Leorio swore loudly.
The severed body hit the mud and convulsed, warping grotesquely before collapsing into a monkey with a head that closely resembled a human.
The remaining Satotz adjusted his glasses calmly. "Correct," he said. "That was an imitation."
Kitse exhaled slowly.
Even knowing it would happen, seeing the speed and precision in person sent a spark through him. This wasn't animation on a screen.
They resumed running, but the atmosphere had changed. Fear moved through the examinees in uneven waves.
And then Hisoka began to thin the herd.
The pressure rolled out subtly at first. One candidate stumbled. Another's breathing turned ragged. The air itself seemed heavier.
Leorio's voice tightened. "Why does it feel like that again?"
Kilua's eyes sharpened. "He's targeting them."
Hisoka slowed to a walk, cards loose between his fingers. "Too many unripe fruits," he murmured. "They make the air unpleasant."
A man tried to push past him.
The card flicked and the man fell.
The silence afterward felt different from the swamp's natural quiet. This was silence caused by terror and uncertainty.
Kitse felt it too. The killing intent brushing against his skin. It wasn't overwhelming to him but he couldn't say the same about the rest.
Hisoka's gaze locked in.
There it is, Kitse thought, pulse quickening.
This was the moment he'd wondered about since arriving in this world. Watching Hisoka from a screen was one thing. Standing in front of him as a potential target was another entirely.
"You're different from the rest," Hisoka said, tilting his head slightly.
Gon took a half-step forward. "What do you—"
"Keep running," Kitse said, not looking away.
Gon hesitated. Kitse could hear it in his breathing. Kilua grabbed his sleeve. "Let's go," he muttered, though he didn't look pleased about it.
When they moved ahead, Kitse slowed to a stop.
"You've been bored," Kitse said evenly. "If you want stimulation, you should at least choose properly."
Hisoka's smile deepened, not wider but sharper. "Oh? Are you volunteering?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
Three cards shot forward, angled for efficiency rather than flair. Kitse felt the trajectory before he consciously calculated it. He pivoted, letting the first graze air near his neck. The second he deflected with the flat of his blade. The third would have curved back—he stepped inside its path before it could.
Hisoka closed the distance immediately.
Good, Kitse thought, heart racing now. He didn't bother using Nen. Hisoka wasn't using it too. This was simply a probe from Hisoka and Kitse played along with the maniac.
The downward slash came fast and clean.
Kitse stepped forward instead of back, collapsing the space and cutting horizontally from within reach. The resistance through his blade was solid but not enough.
Hisoka's hand dropped into the swamp with a muted splash.
For half a second, everything stilled.
Kitse's chest rose and fell steadily, though heat flooded his veins.
Hisoka stared at his severed wrist. Then, to Kitse's satisfaction, he laughed. There was an odd hint of delight and satisfaction in that laugh.
"That," Hisoka said softly, "was refreshing."
Aura threads shot outward, attaching to the fallen hand. He drew it back and pressed it into place with practiced ease, flexing his fingers as if testing new gloves.
"You cut without hesitation."
"You attacked," Kitse replied, unable to keep the faint curve from his own mouth now.
He was enjoying this.
The danger, the precision, the knowledge of exactly how thin the margin was. This was why he had trained. Why he had pushed himself. Not to survive quietly, but to stand here and meet someone like this head-on.
Hisoka studied him, reassessing. The playful culling of weak candidates had shifted into something more deliberate.
"Not here," Hisoka said at last. "If you were removed now, it would be disappointing."
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and for once there was no performance layered over it. Just acknowledgment.
When Kitse turned and resumed running, he felt lighter.
Gon rushed to his side as soon as he caught up. "You're bleeding!"
Kitse glanced at the shallow cut along his sleeve. "It's fine."
Kilua's gaze was more analytical.
"You were expecting that?" he said questioningly.
Kitse looked ahead into the fog, where the path twisted deeper into the swamp.
Because this world was dangerous. Because he knew how much worse it would get. Because standing still would never be enough.
Behind them, Hisoka flexed his restored hand, eyes following Kitse's retreating figure with renewed interest.
Further back, Illumi continued forward without changing pace, though his attention had sharpened slightly.