The smell of meat was unexpected.
Renzo stepped out of the transport tunnel into an open mountain clearing. Wind cut sharp across the cliffside. A cooking station—no, a full kitchen—stood at the center of the plateau. Steel counters. Cutting boards. Flames.
Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio were already there, gathered near a long table where ingredients sat under cloth covers.
"You made it," Gon said, smiling wide.
Renzo nodded. "Barely."
He didn't elaborate. No one asked. The assistant examiner who had pulled him aside during the run was long gone. No explanation. No score. Just a nod and release. Whatever that corridor had tested, it had been personal.
"Quiet as always," Leorio muttered, adjusting his coat. "I thought you got eliminated."
"I was sent a different way," Renzo replied. "Same result."
He didn't mention the hallucination. The shadow of himself he had fought. The blood on his hands that hadn't been real but felt like it.
"Look," Gon pointed, "they're starting!"
A man the size of a boulder walked to the front. His belly swayed with each step, and he carried a ladle like a war club. "I am Buhara," he rumbled. "Examiner for the Second Phase."
Next to him stood a slender woman with wild pink hair, arms crossed, eyes like blades. "Menchi," she said sharply. "Co-examiner. And don't waste my time."
"Your task," Buhara said, voice booming, "is to cook a dish that satisfies both of us."
Whispers erupted among the crowd.
"Cooking? That's the next trial?"
"What kind of exam is this?"
Leorio groaned. "I didn't study for a kitchen test!"
Renzo didn't react. He stepped forward, hands loose at his sides. Jack's voice returned to him: "Respect your food. Your blade. Your breath. Everything else is noise."
They were given ingredients. Strange cuts. Animal parts Renzo didn't recognize. Bones. Organs. Sinew.
Gon bent low, sniffing and grinning. Kurapika narrowed his eyes and chose his pieces like a tactician. Leorio grabbed wildly.
Renzo paused. Smelled the meat. Ran a finger along the grain. He chose a single tendon-laced piece and moved to a small flame.
He didn't try to be clever. Just quiet.
Slow. Salt. Fire. Flip. Rest. Breathe.
When he finished, he offered his dish in silence.
Buhara devoured it in one bite. "Tough, but… good effort."
Menchi took a single nibble. Her eyes sharpened. She set the plate down. "Pass."
Renzo blinked. That was all?
Leorio's dish was undercooked. Fail.
Kurapika passed, just barely.
Gon—somehow—won Menchi's approval with a wild roasted animal he'd caught using only thread and bait.
"Interesting instincts," Menchi muttered.
But most failed.
Menchi turned on the group, arms folded. "You lack passion. Precision. Taste. You're unworthy of cooking, let alone hunting."
The failure rate was massive. Furious shouting erupted. Someone threw a pan.
"I am a Hunter!" a man bellowed. "Not a chef!"
"You failed," Menchi snapped. "That's all that matters."
Renzo stood still. The absurdity of it didn't bother him. The world was like this. Arbitrary. Harsh. Unfair. His entire life in this world had been one long unreasonable trial. This was just another step.
Then the sky buzzed.
A helicopter descended—massive, loud, marked with the Hunter Association's seal. From it stepped a man who walked like gravity itself bent around him.
Chairman Netero.
The crowd went silent.
Renzo exhaled slowly. Even here, his breath stayed calm. But his aura coiled tighter.
The real test was beginning.