Chapter 19: The Fog of Futility
Yuta fell to his hands and knees, the soft, wet grass a shocking, cruel mockery of comfort. The world was a spinning, gray void. His vision was tunneled, his ears filled with the sound of his own blood, a frantic, pounding whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
He had done it. He had run for... hours? A day? He had climbed an endless mountain of stairs. He had carried a burden that was not his. He had pushed his body past a limit he never knew he had, driven by a cocktail of shame, adrenaline, and a desperate, burning need not to be the weak link.
And for what?
"No..." Leorio's voice was a croak, a sound of pure, soul-shattering despair. "It... it can't... We ran... in a circle..."
The words hit Yuta like a physical blow. A circle. He stared at the ground. At the thick, white fog. At the sickly, pale-purple, mushroom-like trees looming in the mist. He smelled it—the same cloying, sweet smell of rot.
It was all for nothing.
The marathon. The stairs. The agony. All of it... a pointless, cruel joke. They were right back where they started. The place where he had frozen. The place where he was.
"I... I..." Yuta tried to speak, but his throat was too dry. He looked at Leorio's briefcase, which had burst open. The medical books were splayed on the grass, their pages already darkening as the damp seeped in. He had carried trash. He had fought for nothing. A cold, hopeless futility washed over him, a feeling far worse than the fear he'd felt from Hisoka. This was a deeper, emptier kind of ice.
"Wait."
Gon's voice was a sharp, clear blade in the heavy fog of despair.
He was on his feet, his nose twitching, his head tilted. "It's... it's not the same."
"What are you talking about, Gon?!" Leorio cried, his voice hysterical. "It's the same fog! The same... stinking... mud!"
"No," Gon insisted, his bright, hazel eyes scanning the mist. "It smells the same... but it feels different. The air... it's heavier here. And... and the sounds! Listen! They're coming from... all around us. Not just from the path."
At that moment, the rest of the applicants began to pour from the tunnel exit, a wave of exhausted, collapsing, and groaning bodies. The thundering of feet finally, mercifully, stopped.
The crowd of survivors—perhaps a hundred and fifty, a fraction of who had started—gathered, a sea of confused, defeated, and angry faces.
Then, Satotz, who had been standing silently at the front, turned.
His mouth-less, gaunt face was placid as ever. "Congratulations, everyone," his voice echoed, calm and clear. "You have successfully completed the First Phase of the exam."
A stunned, broken silence.
"What...?" Kurapika was the first to find his voice, his breathing still ragged. "Completed? But... where are we?"
"This is a trick!" an applicant shouted, his voice cracking. "We're in the same swamp! You just ran us in a circle!"
Satotz, impossibly, seemed to sigh. "You are mistaken. Please, use your heads. We were in a tunnel for... " he glanced at his pocket watch, "a little over eight hours. We have been running at a consistent pace. We have just crossed more than eighty kilometers."
He gestured to the fog around them. "The tunnel took us under the mountain range, not around it. The location you started in, the 'Swindlers' Swamp' near Zaban City, was a decoy for the weak-willed. This... " his voice took on a slightly graver tone, "is the true Numere Wetlands. You have arrived at your destination."
The words were like a switch. The despair didn't just lift; it evaporated.
Eighty kilometers.
A wild, hysterical, delirious joy bubbled up in Yuta's chest. He looked at Leorio's briefcase. He looked at his own trembling, muddy legs. He had done it. He hadn't frozen. He hadn't failed. He had run eighty kilometers. A small, choked, half-laugh, half-sob escaped his lips.
Leorio was staring at Satotz, his mouth hanging open. "Eighty... kilometers...? I... I ran... eighty kilometers...? I'm... I'm a god!"
"The Second Phase of the exam," Satotz continued, his voice cutting through the rising murmur, "will be held deep within these wetlands. You must follow me to the examination site."
He began to walk, his long, gliding strides taking him into the mist. "And I must warn you again. This fog is thick. Your senses will be your enemy. Be very, very careful. The creatures here are masters of deceit. Do not, under any circumstances..."
"BE FOOLED!"
The shriek came from behind them.
A man, his face a mask of dried blood, his applicant tag torn, stumbled out of the fog, collapsing into the crowd. He looked like he'd been mauled.
He pointed a shaking, bloody finger at Satotz. "Don't... don't listen... to him! He's... an impostor!"
The crowd froze.
"He's... a Man-Faced Ape!" the man shrieked, his eyes wild with terror. "I... I'm the real examiner! He... he attacked me... left me for dead!"
A wave of utter confusion and panic swept the applicants. "What?" "An ape?" "Which one is it?"
Yuta's newfound relief turned to ice. He looked at Satotz. He looked at the bleeding, terrified man. Deceit. Satotz had warned them. Was this the test?
A new figure emerged from the fog, stepping gracefully into the clearing. He was idly wiping blood from a playing card onto his sleeve.
"My, my..." Hisoka purred, his golden, slitted eyes gleaming with a sick, delighted amusement. "This is... a fascinating development."
Yuta's heart didn't just stop. It felt like it was plucked from his chest and dropped into a bucket of ice. He was back. He was right there.