HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

Before the match began, Cyr took a moment to inspect the walls of the training room. He pressed his fingers against the surface, applying a bit of force, but no marks were left behind.

Good. At least I won't accidentally punch through the airship.

As he clenched and unclenched his fists, a thought lingered in his mind: Maybe I'll hit a Black Flash this time. These guys might just be weak enough for it to happen.

The only problem was the collateral damage. If he accidentally killed someone here, he'd lose his chance to pass the exam.

Troublesome. Why are they all so fragile?

"Hey, kid! What are you feeling up the walls for? Get over here!" The burly man—whose biceps alone seemed larger than most people's torsos—was growing impatient.

Cyr turned his gaze toward him, smiling faintly.

"I'll even let you have the first move," the man offered, pounding his chest with his fists. The heavy, dull sound reverberated through the room, as if showcasing the density of his muscles.

That meat looks tough and chewy that Sukuna himself wouldn't even like.

"Oh, thanks for the courtesy." Cyr raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with mock politeness.

Dark blue energy began swirling faintly around his hands.

Before anyone could blink, Cyr vanished from his spot.

A resounding crash echoed through the training room.

When the dust settled, the burly man was embedded in the wall, cracks spiderwebbing outward from his impact point. The sight was almost comical—if not for the ominous stillness of his body.

Cyr stood where the man had been, examining his own fist with mild curiosity.

"Well, that was unexpected." He tilted his head, looking back and forth between his hand and the man stuck in the wall. "I finally managed a Black Flash... and it's on him?"

The irony wasn't lost on him. After countless sparring sessions with Syd, he had never once pulled off the technique. And now, of all times, it happened against someone so weak.

Guess I hit a critical by accident.

At least the walls of the training room were sturdy—they hadn't been punched through, even after such a direct hit.

Cyr approached the unconscious man, casually pulling him out of the wall like someone retrieving a painting.

"Hang in there, don't die on me now," he muttered, his tone vaguely concerned.

Using his Six Eyes, Cyr could tell that the man's life force was quickly fading. If he didn't receive treatment soon, he'd be dead in ten minutes.

I swear, I didn't mean to kill him. Who's going to believe me, though?

Cyr wasn't some bloodthirsty killer, but the truth would sound like an excuse to everyone here.

"This is a hassle," he sighed. Turning toward the other examinees, he gestured lazily. "One of you… go get an examiner."

The room was dead silent. No one moved. Instead, the spectators instinctively stepped back, pressing themselves against the farthest wall as if it could shield them.

Even those who had been minding their own business stopped what they were doing, frozen like statues.

A few examinees near the door began inching toward it, clearly hoping to escape without drawing Cyr's attention.

But Cyr noticed. He always noticed.

"Trying to leave?" His voice was calm, but the air felt heavier, oppressive.

A razor-sharp slash appeared on the door near one man's face, slicing off a few strands of his hair and leaving a shallow cut on his cheek.

It was impossible to tell if the mark was intentional or just a warning shot.

"N-no! Of course not!" the man stammered, backing away from the door and shaking his head furiously.

"I'm serious—I didn't mean to kill him," Cyr said, standing up and surveying the room. His tone was casual, but his piercing blue eyes carried a quiet intensity. "You believe me, don't you?"

The remaining examinees nodded furiously, not daring to disagree.

"Good." Cyr smiled, but it wasn't exactly comforting.

"Now, someone go get an examiner. Quickly, before he dies."

This time, the man closest to the door didn't hesitate. He bolted out of the room, yelling as he ran.

"EXAMINER! HELP! THERE'S A MONSTER IN THE TRAINING ROOM!"

—-—

Bloodied and lifeless on the floor lay the man who had once stood tall and confident. Sitting cross-legged beside him, the white-haired boy looked utterly bored, his expression laced with a tired indifference.

Across from him, the rest of the examinees huddled together, too terrified to make a move. They resembled obedient dogs, frozen in submission, their breaths shallow as if the very act of breathing too loudly might draw punishment.

The atmosphere was oppressive, heavy with an indescribable tension.

In the corner, a golden-haired boy with a bob cut—his face smeared with blood—watched the scene unfold, his eyes gleaming with a strange admiration.

'So strong...'

How could someone like him even think of befriending such a powerful being? He was clearly unworthy, too weak to even serve as a subordinate.

When examiners Bindo and Rogoff arrived, the bizarre sight made them pause.

Even as seasoned hunters, this was something neither of them had witnessed before: a boy of twelve or thirteen holding an entire room hostage with nothing but his presence.

The oppressive air wasn't just imagined. Even Bindo, the more experienced of the two, felt an inexplicable pressure the moment he stepped into the training room.

'Is this really the aura of a child? It's as if the very air has been sucked from the room.'

The boy stood up at their arrival, brushing nonexistent dust from his pants before casually pointing at the crumpled figure on the floor.

"He's not dead yet. Better start treating him quickly," he said in an almost dismissive tone.

The moment he spoke, the suffocating atmosphere lifted, as though the room could finally breathe again.

Bindo's eyes drifted to the wall, spiderwebbed with cracks surrounding a man-shaped dent. He crouched down to check the injured examinee, his expression growing graver with each passing moment.

The man's ribcage was shattered, his internal organs pulverized, and his spine broken. His body was soft, pliant, as though he were boneless.

"These injuries..." Bindo muttered, shaking his head.

"I'll handle it," Rogoff said, kneeling beside him. He placed a glowing green hand on the man's chest.

Cyr's Six Eyes caught the faint energy entering the man's body, stabilizing his rapidly dwindling life force.

"He won't die immediately," Rogoff announced after a moment, withdrawing his hand. "But he's finished as a participant. His injuries are too severe to continue."

Bindo sighed at the news and turned to look at the white-haired boy, who met his gaze with perfect composure.

Before the examiner could speak, the boy casually gestured toward the corner.

"Oh, and take that one to the medical room too," he added, pointing at the bloodied figure in the corner.

"Too weak. Just looking at him is annoying."

The sheer arrogance in his voice was breathtaking, as if the boy were a king dismissing unworthy subjects.

The examiners carried the two injured men to the medical bay, leaving Cyr behind with the remaining examinees.

The boy scanned the room, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

"Who's next?" he asked, the faintest sigh of boredom escaping his lips. "I promise I'll hold back this time."

Silence. Not a single soul dared to meet his eyes.

No one wanted to share the fate of the man still barely clinging to life.

Ah, Syd would've loved this.' Cyr thought wistfully, a pang of nostalgia hitting him.' It's only been a week since I left Meteor City, and I already miss that bastard.'

"Well then," he drawled, his tone shifting to one of indifference, "anyone want to play cards?"

It was a question meant to fill the void of silence, but the room erupted into noise as everyone scrambled to answer.

"Me!"

"I'll play!"

"Let's go back to the lounge!"

"Cards sound great!"

The change in demeanor was instantaneous, as if the group collectively realized their best option was to appease the monster in their midst.

'They really know how to read the room.' Cyr mused with mild amusement.

An hour later, the white-haired boy sat at a card table, staring at yet another terrible hand. His face betrayed no emotion, but his thoughts were loud and clear.

'Maybe the training room wasn't so bad after all.'

°°°

If you want to read ahead and access 20 advanced chapters, check the patreon

Link: Patreon/Moziel