Impossible!
Hisoka was completely shaken by the sight before him. He stared, wide-eyed, as all of Mothra's energy surged into Aoyama's body. No matter how he looked at it, the scene defied reason.
Compared to a Titan-class beast, a human was nothing more than an ant. Yet here was a mere "ant," somehow withstanding the entirety of Mothra's vast energy.
Even Netero was stunned. In his century of life, he had never witnessed anything like this. A beast the size of Mothra, yes—that was within the realm of comprehension. But to see all of its energy funneled into a single human body without that body bursting apart? The toughness required was beyond belief.
Aoyama couldn't even speak now. His teeth were clenched tightly, terrified that the slightest opening would cause the energy to leak out. To prevent this, he instinctively invoked Hisoka's lesson—Ken.
The aura condensed, forming a shell like a tortoise's carapace that pressed down on his body. Every movement felt impossibly heavy. He wasn't paralyzed, but lifting even a finger demanded tremendous effort.
Netero could sense it—Aoyama had become a dormant volcano. It wasn't erupting yet, but with the slightest trigger, it could explode in catastrophic fury.
With her energy spent, Mothra gave one last cry and vanished from the Hunter World—perhaps returning to the Monsterverse, or perhaps into the Book of Monsters.
With Mothra gone, the 100-Type Guanyin stilled. Without Netero's commands, it was nothing more than a statue.
Silence fell.
Aoyama lacked the strength to even speak.
And Netero, out of respect for human dignity, did not interrupt. Aoyama was no alien king, no inhuman tyrant—he was still a man. Humans were peculiar like that: willing to show compassion to their kind, yet merciless toward outsiders. As the ancients once said—If he is not of our race, his heart is surely different.
Time passed. Dawn crept across the horizon, a pale light pushing back the dark. Only then did Aoyama stir, slowly lifting his head.
Too heavy. His body no longer felt like his own. It was as though he had become a mountain himself, and moving such a mountain was nearly impossible. The hardest part wasn't shifting the weight—but making that mountain run, and making it strike.
Netero sat in meditation, palms pressed together, waiting like a true monk. Finally, he broke the silence:
"If you knew my next blow might kill you, would you continue fighting? You must already realize—my strength now is enough that a single strike could truly end you."
Aoyama smiled grimly.
"I've stood alone at the peak for too long," Netero continued, his voice carrying a rare tremor. "If I can find someone to fight—truly fight—even if I fall in the end, I would welcome it."
"So that's your obsession with martial arts," Aoyama said. "Right now, you finally look more like the Hunter Chairman I've heard about."
"Hahaha! Sometimes acting the fool makes life more enjoyable. But if death is upon me, then I'll face it with every ounce of seriousness I possess!"
While Aoyama struggled to adapt to the violent storm inside his body, Hisoka quietly withdrew. As much as he loved fighting strong opponents, this was no longer a battle he could even spectate. The residual shockwaves alone could annihilate him. To stay and watch would be suicide.
Netero rose and summoned the full majesty of the 100-Type Guanyin. Arms upon arms unfurled, filling the sky with the dance of a thousand hands.
By the time the sun had fully risen, sweeping away the night, both warriors were ready.
The final clash began.
Netero struck with all his might, the Guanyin's countless arms swinging in unison.
Aoyama bared his teeth in a feral grin. As his foot touched the earth, the ground cracked beneath him. His power was uncontrollable, surging like a beast—but control was no longer necessary.
"Normal Punch!"
Recalling the legendary bald demon king, he threw out the simplest of punches. Plain, unadorned, without aura or flourish.
Yet that single punch shattered Guanyin's golden palms. Arm after radiant arm broke apart like glass, torn asunder by sheer, unreasonable force.
BOOM!
The statue split, crumbling piece by piece. Netero, channeling his Guanyin, for the first time in decades, felt true fear—fear of death itself.
The Guanyin dissolved into fragments, scattering like dust in the wind.
Netero fell back, his wrinkled face glowing not with despair but with exhilaration. A moment later, his body collapsed, motionless.
Aoyama too fell, spent. That one punch had drained every ounce of strength and energy within him. It was his version of the Bald King's devastating strike.
Two days later, both men awoke separately, each reflecting on the truths they had grasped from the battle. Neither spoke. Silently, they turned and went their ways.
Aoyama lingered a little longer in the Hunter World, but soon, the return came.
He breathed in the fresh air of the Shinobi World once more—only for a kunai to whistle past his face, trailed by a blazing fireball.
Aoyama sighed helplessly. "Seriously? I just got back, and already someone's trying to kill me?"
He vanished with the Body Flicker, reappearing close behind the fleeing assailant.
"Hey, mind telling me why you suddenly attacked me?"
The enemy's pupils shrank in terror, but before he could respond, a puppet darted forward and cleanly severed his head.
A red-haired man approached, dragging corpses and holding two puppets at his side. The Puppet Master, Sasori of the Red Sand.
"It's been a while," Sasori said calmly.
Aoyama frowned. "What do you mean, 'a while'?"
Sasori inspected the corpse at his feet with dissatisfaction, then explained matter-of-factly:
"You vanished for half a year. Doesn't that count as a long time? If our leader hadn't announced that you were still part of Akatsuki, I would've assumed you'd abandoned us."
Aoyama froze. "Half a year?"
The realization hit him—time in the Hunter World flowed differently. What had been months there had translated into half a year here.
And if that was true, then in other worlds… the difference might be even greater. Just like the old legends said—one day in heaven, a year on earth.