Chapter 51: The Tragic Fate of the Human-Faced Ape
"Alright, Leorio, that should be enough for now. You've eaten plenty — your strength should be back. Let's head this way."
Osren's tone was calm, almost caring, as he looked at the Human-Faced Ape disguised as Leorio. He had successfully "fed" the creature several rounds of food — fruits, buns, and whatever else he could stuff into its reluctant mouth. His plan was complete.
In truth, Osren would've kept the act going longer — if not for the fact that the poor beast already looked like it was about to burst. Its cheeks were pale, its posture unsteady, and its eyes had that unmistakable "please kill me now" look.
The boy decided to be merciful.
"Close call," thought the Human-Faced Ape with visible relief, nearly sagging with gratitude when Osren finally said the words "let's go." The voice was like music from heaven.
"I was one fruit away from being the first Human-Faced Ape in history to die of vegetarianism," it grumbled internally. "I swear… I never want to see another fruit or bun again."
Osren caught the creature's obvious relief and smiled faintly — not a mocking smile, but one of quiet satisfaction.
Perfect timing, he thought. By now, Hisoka should be playing "Examiner" somewhere out there. Pity I can't watch the show live.
He frowned slightly, thinking of Hisoka's strength. If I ran into him now, I wouldn't walk away unscathed. Better to wait — power first, spectacle later.
With that, he turned, leading the disguised beast deeper into the fog-laden forest.
---
And indeed, Osren's timing was impeccable — because elsewhere in the swamp, Hisoka the Magician had already begun his evaluation.
"Such bad manners…" Hisoka muttered with a smile as he casually ended another life. The victim hadn't even finished his question before a single playing card sliced clean through his throat. Hisoka didn't even glance at the falling corpse.
"Don't confuse yourselves with me," he said lightly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "Before you die, let me give you a piece of advice — magic can do anything."
The remaining examinees stared at him with hatred, but the clown-like man seemed immune to emotion. His words carried no arrogance — only truth. In this world, power was reason enough.
Of course, every world had those who mistook courage for strength.
"Stop joking around!" barked one of them — a burly man wielding a massive spiked mace. He looked around and shouted, rallying the terrified examinees beside him. "He's just one man! If we work together, we can take him down!"
Another examinee stepped forward, twin blades gleaming in his hands. "You're no Hunter — you're just a murderer!" he declared, his stance low and precise.
"Oh? Is that so?" Hisoka's eyes glimmered with delight. He raised a single finger, twirling one card lazily between them. "For the likes of you… a single card will be enough."
"Don't underestimate us!" the man with the mace roared — and with that, the small group surged forward, weapons drawn, screaming defiance.
But Hisoka merely smiled — that unsettling, childlike grin spreading wide across his face.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, stepping gracefully backward. "The world's greatest magician… has arrived."
Then he moved.
His body seemed to blur, his hands fanning out in a flash of red and white. The cards struck faster than sight — and when the motion stopped, nearly a dozen bodies crumpled to the ground.
Each one with a card buried deep in the throat or chest.
Blood misted the air. The fog turned crimson.
And Hisoka — drenched in the glow of his own carnage — began to laugh.
A deep, ecstatic laugh, the kind that chilled the spine and made the air vibrate.
He looked genuinely, terrifyingly happy.
The surviving examinees, trembling and pale, no longer thought about passing the exam.
They were just trying to survive the magician's game.
---
Meanwhile, somewhere far from the screams and the smell of blood, Osren walked through the trees beside a very nauseous "Leorio."
The boy's expression was calm — serene even — as if nothing around him could shake that quiet, steady smile.
"Leorio," he said lightly, "how about some dessert?"
The Human-Faced Ape froze mid-step, its face turning a new shade of green.
"...Please… no."
Osren laughed softly. "Relax. I was joking."
Then, almost imperceptibly, his gaze sharpened — and the faintest glint of chakra pulsed between his fingers.
The time for acting was over.
It was time for the curtain to fall.
---
"Damn it… my weapon's still in that bag."
Leorio hissed between clenched teeth, one hand clutching the wound on his arm. Blood ran freely down his sleeve, but retreat never once crossed his mind. His eyes stayed fixed on Hisoka, who was methodically butchering the examinees like a painter lost in his work.
Beside him, Kurapika stood tall, twin tonfas in hand, his posture unwavering — silent, but unflinchingly protective.
"Leorio…"
Far away, Gon suddenly slowed his pace, his instincts flaring like a sixth sense. He didn't know why, but his heart told him something was wrong — Leorio and Kurapika were in danger.
And once Gon felt something, there was no stopping him.
Without a second thought, he spun on his heel and sprinted straight toward the pull of that invisible thread of connection.
This wasn't intuition anymore — it was something beyond human, the kind of protagonist's miracle that could only belong to one of Togashi's chosen.
"Gon!" Killua's voice cut through the fog, sharp with urgency — but Gon didn't even flinch.
"Go on ahead, Killua! I'll catch up!" he shouted back, and before Killua could protest, he vanished into the thick mist.
Killua clicked his tongue. "Tch. Idiot. I've never met anyone this stupid — running back into danger for someone else."
From a short distance away, Hanzo had also noticed Gon's sudden turn. The ninja sighed heavily, muttering to himself, "Unbelievable. He's really going back. What is he, the protagonist of a kids' show?"
Killua smirked faintly at the coincidence. "You're right. He's a total idiot."
He hesitated for a moment — torn between chasing after Gon and following the examiner — but reason won out. He adjusted his skateboard underfoot. "Fine. I'll see him at the next stage."
With a clack, Killua dropped the board to the ground and hopped on. A swift push sent him gliding effortlessly ahead, cutting through the fog. In seconds, he had overtaken Hanzo entirely.
Hanzo watched, blinking, as Killua vanished in the haze. "...Okay, that's actually kinda cool," he muttered grudgingly. "Why was I even running?"
---
Back in the blood-soaked clearing, Hisoka's "evaluation" was nearly complete.
Where once twenty examinees had stood, now only three remained — Leorio, Kurapika, and a small, wiry boy with spiky hair and a yellow-brown outfit: Pokkle.
Hisoka glanced around the carnage with mild disappointment. "All eliminated," he murmured.
Then his gaze lifted, eyes gleaming with predatory delight.
"Only three left. Wonderful. The show's almost over."
Leorio gritted his teeth. "Damn it…"
Hisoka's lips curled into that haunting smile. "Then let's start with you."
He took a step forward, slow and deliberate — every movement measured, the soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes sounding almost deafening in the tense silence.
Each footfall landed like a weight on their hearts.
Pokkle's jaw tightened. "When I give the signal," he whispered quickly, "we scatter. Fighting him head-on is suicide."
"What?" Leorio snapped, not liking the idea of running.
"That man isn't just strong — he's different. Even killers hesitate the moment before they strike, but him?" Pokkle's eyes darkened. "He doesn't."
If Osren had been there, he would've sighed and said, "Kid, you're too naïve. You clearly haven't met the Zoldycks."
Kurapika gave a grim nod. "He's right. Even if all three of us fought together, the odds of victory are nonexistent."
Leorio growled, defiance flaring in his chest. "We won't know unless we try."
Pokkle exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on his weapon. "You're determined, I'll give you that. I guess we're all the same — desperate to pass, unwilling to quit halfway."
He looked up just as Hisoka's shadow fell across the grass before them, closer now — calm, composed, unstoppable.
"No shame in retreating," Pokkle said quietly. "But it still stings."
---
The stage was set.
The clown smiled.
The next act — would be painted in blood.
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