The cliff was worse in person.
That was Tonpa's first thought when they reached it.
In the anime, it had looked dramatic. Dangerous, yes, but in the neat, manageable way danger often looked through a screen. A wide drop. Wind. Ropes of webbing. A narrow path to survival if one followed instructions and had enough courage not to disgrace oneself halfway down.
In reality, it looked like the edge of a very old argument between gravity and human arrogance.
Tonpa stood near the back of the gathered candidates and stared over the drop in exhausted disbelief.
The cliff plunged downward into mist and distance, its stone face cut with sharp ledges and hanging strands of pale web that swayed in the wind like silk drawn out by something patient and unnatural. Far below, shapes moved through the haze—small at first, then clearer when he narrowed his eyes.
Birds.
No.
Not birds.
Spiders.
Gigantic ones.
His stomach sank.
Right.
The egg-hunting task.
Of course that would feel worse when his own body was the one expected to participate.
Menchi stood at the edge with total ease, as if cliffs, wind, and death by falling were merely ingredients in a well-balanced recipe.
"The task is simple," she said.
Tonpa did not believe her.
"You will descend this cliff," Menchi continued, "and retrieve the eggs of the spider eagles below."
A murmur passed through the candidates.
Simple, apparently, was one of those words the Hunter Exam used with open contempt for reality.
Menchi pointed toward the hanging strands attached to the cliffside.
"These webs are strong enough to support you. Use them to descend. Take an egg, then return before the spider eagles react."
Tonpa stared at the webs.
Then at the drop.
Then at Menchi.
Then back at the webs.
No.
Absolutely not.
The wind rose across the cliff face, cool and sharp, carrying the scent of stone, sky, and something dry and animal from below. Standing too close to the edge made his balance feel false. The height seemed to drag at his eyes, inviting one wrong shift of weight.
Around him, the candidates reacted in different ways.
Some looked terrified.
Some skeptical.
Some already wore the deeply irritating expression of people who thought effort alone solved falling.
Gon stepped closer to the edge, not recklessly, but with the open fascination of someone examining a new creature. Killua came beside him, hands in his pockets, gaze half-lidded and unimpressed in a way that suggested death from altitude had yet to earn his respect.
Leorio looked down once, then immediately stepped back.
"No," he said.
Kurapika kept his expression calm, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
Tonpa sympathized.
For once, the cliff felt democratic. It offended everyone.
Netero stood a short distance away, hands folded behind him, watching the room—or rather the cliff—with that same mild, unreadable interest he seemed to apply to almost everything. Tonpa avoided looking at him directly.
Not because he had forgotten the old man's brief attention from earlier.
Because he remembered it too well.
Menchi turned slightly toward the group.
"To show you that it can be done," she said, "watch carefully."
Then she jumped.
Several candidates inhaled sharply.
Tonpa felt his soul leave his body in protest.
Menchi dropped through open air with maddening confidence, caught one of the swaying strands cleanly, and descended in smooth, controlled motions. The wind moved her hair and clothes, but never her balance. Below, the spider eagles reacted too slowly. She reached the nest, took an egg, then rode a rising current of wind back upward with infuriating grace and landed near the cliff edge as if she had merely stepped off a chair.
She held up the egg.
"Like that."
Tonpa stared at her.
There were moments when he truly hated talented people.
This was one of them.
The candidates began moving almost immediately after that, because the Hunter Exam had a way of forcing action by leaving no room for pride to survive indecision. One by one, they approached the edge, tested the web strands, swallowed fear, and started down.
Some descended clumsily.
Some too fast.
Some with the exact kind of stiff caution that usually made things worse.
Tonpa stayed where he was.
Not because he was refusing.
Because his body had not yet forgiven him for the pigs, the swamp, or existence in general.
Leorio stopped beside him.
"Well?" he said.
Tonpa did not look at him. "I'm considering several forms of surrender."
Leorio snorted once. "You and me both."
Tonpa glanced sideways.
Leorio was trying to sound irritated, but the truth was visible enough in his posture. He was tired. Still sore. Still carrying the drag of the swamp in his shoulders and knees. For all his volume and pride, he looked like a man being asked for courage after his supply had already been taxed repeatedly.
That made two of them.
Below, one candidate shouted in panic as a web strand swung harder than expected. Another nearly lost his grip and recovered only through frantic luck.
Tonpa watched the movement of the strands, the timing of the wind, the angle of descent.
Then he watched Menchi.
Then the spider eagles below.
Pattern first.
Panic later.
That was the only sane way through something like this.
Gon went next.
Of course he did.
Tonpa's eyes followed him automatically. Gon stepped onto the webbing with complete trust in his own body, descended with natural rhythm, and adjusted mid-motion to the sway without seeming to think about it. Not because he was careless. Because movement came honestly to him.
Killua followed soon after, with less visible enthusiasm and more quiet precision, though the result was no less irritating.
Tonpa clicked his tongue.
Children.
He hated talented children too, apparently.
Kurapika made his descent with careful control, each motion exact. Leorio lingered a moment longer, then swore under his breath and stepped forward with the determined posture of a man refusing to be publicly defeated by a cliff.
Tonpa watched him go.
Then realized, with growing disgust, that he was nearly one of the last.
Wonderful.
Around him, the remaining candidates had either already started down or were trying very hard not to look like they regretted all their life choices.
Tonpa stepped toward the edge.
The wind struck him at once.
Up here, away from the ground, it felt sharper. More personal. He looked down once and immediately regretted being born.
The strands of webbing stretched below in pale, trembling lines. The nests were visible now in ugly detail—woven masses tucked into the cliff face, with white eggs resting inside like prizes designed by people who hated fairness.
Far below, the spider eagles shifted.
Waiting.
Tonpa swallowed.
He had survived a tunnel, a swamp, Hisoka, two giant boars, and Menchi's personality.
He was not dying because of breakfast.
He crouched, tested the nearest strand with one hand, and felt the tension in it. Strong.
Stronger than it looked.
Good.
That helped very little.
He grabbed on with both hands, stepped over the edge—
—and discovered at once that the human body was not meant to negotiate with open air while tired.
The drop hit him like a physical blow.
For one horrible second, every instinct in him locked at once. His grip tightened too hard. His shoulders jerked. His ankle screamed at the sudden pull of suspended weight. The cliff face seemed farther than it should have been, the stone too vertical, the world too open.
The strand swayed.
Tonpa's stomach lurched.
"Terrible," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Absolutely terrible."
He forced himself to breathe.
One inhale.
One exhale.
Do not look down again.
He looked down again.
That was a mistake.
He hated heights. He discovered this with profound sincerity and far too late for it to be useful.
The cliff face slid past beside him as he lowered himself further, hand over hand, trying to imitate the rhythm he had seen from the others. The strand creaked softly with each shift of weight, not from weakness, but from movement. Wind rose past him in sudden cool bursts, carrying the distant cries of the spider eagles below.
His shoulders burned almost immediately.
Wonderful.
Not because the strand was too heavy. Because his body had already spent most of its patience elsewhere.
He kept going.
Slowly.
Carefully.
There was no elegance in it. No natural grace. He descended like a man who had made peace with humiliation as long as it kept him alive.
Below, one of the spider eagles stirred more sharply. Another candidate had moved too roughly near a nest and nearly triggered a full reaction. Menchi barked an order from above, sharp and clear, and the candidate froze just long enough to save himself.
Tonpa used the distraction to keep lowering himself.
Step.
Grip.
Step.
Grip.
His breathing remained controlled by force more than comfort. His ankle throbbed whenever the strand swung too far and made him correct with his legs. His forearms were beginning to burn.
Still, something else had changed too.
Something smaller.
Quieter.
His body did not feel the way it had in the first phase.
That thought came to him in the middle of fear and exhaustion, oddly clear.
He was still heavy.
Still sore.
Still far from anything that could be called athletic.
But not as bad.
Not as helplessly slow.
Not as dragged-down by his own mass.
The realization slipped through him with strange timing.
His movements were cleaner now. His balance, while miserable, was not as miserable as it should have been. The body that had once felt like something borrowed from a man built entirely out of bad habits no longer fought him with quite the same bitterness.
It was a small change.
A humiliating place to notice it.
Still real.
Tonpa bared his teeth in something that was almost a grin.
Well.
That was something.
He reached the first ledge near the nests and steadied himself, chest rising and falling harder now. The egg nearest him sat in a mass of webbing and rock no larger than a crouching space, pale and smooth and absurdly ordinary-looking for an object currently defended by a murderous vertical ecosystem.
Tonpa looked at it.
Then at the nearest spider eagle.
Then back at the egg.
There were many things wrong with this exam. This was one of the stranger ones.
He moved carefully, extending one hand toward the egg.
Below him, something shifted.
Not the bird.
The wind.
A new current rose along the cliff face, stronger than before, carrying a deeper rush of air from below. The web strand pulled against his shoulder. The ledge beneath his foot felt suddenly smaller.
Tonpa's pulse jumped.
Now?
Really?
He grabbed the egg.
The nearest spider eagle shrieked.
Tonpa's whole body reacted before thought caught up. He pulled back, clutching the egg against his chest as the nest exploded into movement. Wings beat. Talons scraped. The giant bird lunged upward from below with a violence that made the cliff feel too small for the sound.
Tonpa kicked off the ledge and threw himself back toward the web strand.
He caught it badly.
Pain tore through both shoulders. The egg nearly slipped from his arm. The strand swung out from the cliff face in a wide arc, dragging him into open air with a force that punched a curse out of him.
Below, the spider eagle snapped at empty space where his leg had been half a second earlier.
Tonpa swung.
Air rushed past him.
The cliff spun sideways.
Somewhere above, voices shouted.
He did not hear the words.
Only urgency.
He twisted one hand higher on the strand, trying to regain control, trying not to drop the egg, trying not to die in a way so embarrassing it would poison his ghost.
The web strand snapped upward on the returning swing and slammed him shoulder-first against the rock wall.
Pain flashed white across his vision.
The egg almost fell.
Tonpa made a sound that was less dignified than human and clung harder.
Above, the updraft strengthened.
That was the return current.
The one Menchi had used.
Right.
That would have been useful to think about sooner.
The wind surged beneath him, rising in a broad, violent sweep. The web strand lifted. Tonpa felt the motion shift under his grip—the downward weight becoming upward drag.
Now.
He adjusted.
Badly.
But enough.
He tucked the egg tighter under one arm and used the new force of the current to climb instead of just hanging on for spiritual collapse. One hand higher. Then another. The strand swayed. The cliff face came closer again. His muscles shook with effort.
Above him, another figure was climbing fast.
Leorio.
Of course it was Leorio.
The man looked down once, saw the state Tonpa was in, and made a face halfway between alarm and disgust.
"You look awful."
Tonpa glared upward. "I'm thriving."
Leorio snorted despite the climb. "Move faster!"
"That's an insulting suggestion."
Another shriek rose below. The spider eagles had fully noticed them now.
Good.
Excellent.
Tonpa hauled himself up harder.
The return current did most of the real work. He knew that. Everyone did. But using it still required timing, grip, balance, and enough composure not to let the height reduce him to a public lesson.
He managed three ugly pulls upward before his right hand slipped.
For one terrifying instant, all his weight hung from the left arm and the crook of his elbow holding the egg.
His shoulder flared with pain.
The world dropped.
Then another hand seized the back of his shirt.
Tonpa jerked in shock and nearly lost grip anyway.
Killua.
The boy was above him on a neighboring strand, one arm braced, expression annoyingly calm for someone currently saving another person from becoming a very educational corpse.
"Seriously?" Killua said. "You're heavy."
Tonpa stared at him. "You picked a bad time."
Killua's mouth twitched. "That's the only kind you ever have."
Then he let go—not carelessly, but with the exact amount of support needed to shift Tonpa back into his own hold without turning rescue into a full carry.
Tonpa hated how competent that had been.
He recovered his grip and climbed harder, now driven by the urgent need not to owe Killua anything more than basic survival required.
The cliff edge drew nearer.
Voices sharpened above.
Gon was there when Tonpa finally reached the top, crouched near the edge with eyes too bright for someone witnessing repeated near-fatal stupidity. Leorio pulled himself over first with a groan. Tonpa followed half a second later, dragging himself onto solid ground with all the grace of a dying sack of grain.
He rolled once onto his back and lay there, clutching the egg to his chest.
The sky above looked offensively peaceful.
For several seconds, he could only breathe.
Air in.
Air out.
Not dead.
Still not dead.
That was becoming less comforting each time.
Somewhere beside him, Leorio laughed once. Short. Sharp. Mostly relief.
Tonpa turned his head enough to see Killua standing over them both, hands back in his pockets as if he had not just interfered in gravity's plans.
Gon crouched near Tonpa and looked at the egg first.
Then at him.
Then at the egg again.
"You kept hold of it," he said.
Tonpa shut his eyes briefly. "I considered dying before dropping it. That felt more dignified."
Gon grinned.
Killua made a soft sound that might have been amusement or disappointment that Tonpa had survived. With him, the distinction remained unclear.
Kurapika approached a moment later, already holding his own egg with the composed posture of someone who had not been publicly assaulted by wind in front of his peers. His gaze flicked once over Tonpa's scraped shoulder, the dirt across his sleeve, the tightness in his grip, and the way he was still breathing a little harder than the others.
He said nothing.
That was somehow more annoying than commentary.
Menchi inspected the returned eggs one by one. This time, there was no confusion in the task and no room for interpretive disaster. Either a candidate had an egg, or they did not. Either they had made the descent and returned, or they had failed.
Simple.
Cruel.
Clean.
When Tonpa finally pushed himself upright and handed over his egg, Menchi took it without ceremony.
But her eyes did pause on him.
Just briefly.
Then on the scrape marks along his shirt.
Then on the others nearby.
The pause lasted less than a second.
Still enough.
Tonpa pretended not to notice.
That was becoming a necessary life skill.
By the time the retest ended, the candidates who had passed wore the same expression in different variations: exhausted disbelief wrapped around the knowledge that the exam had once again refused to end them, which no longer felt like a reliable pattern.
Netero announced the successful candidates with quiet finality.
Phase Two was complete.
A wind moved lightly across the cliff top, cooler now. Less violent. The danger had passed, or at least wandered off to bother someone else.
Tonpa stood near the back of the group and flexed one sore hand.
Something still bothered him.
Not the cliff. Not even Killua's intervention.
His body.
The feel of it.
He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
Still sore.
Still stiff.
But his movement settled faster than it should have.
His breathing, now that the immediate terror had ended, calmed quicker too.
He frowned slightly.
Leorio noticed at once.
"That face again," he said.
Tonpa glanced at him. "What face?"
"The one that says your brain is being annoying."
"That narrows nothing down."
Leorio rolled one shoulder and winced. "What now?"
Tonpa hesitated.
Then said, quieter than before, "I think my body's changing."
Leorio stared at him.
Tonpa regretted the sentence immediately.
Not because it was false.
Because it sounded insane.
Leorio's eyebrows rose. "Changing how?"
Tonpa searched for the right words and found only fragments.
"Lighter," he said at last. "A little. Less… wrong."
Leorio looked him over in the bluntly unimpressed way only Leorio could manage.
"You still look terrible."
Tonpa nodded. "Thank you. That helps."
"I mean you look less terrible than before."
That stopped him.
Leorio frowned at his own phrasing, clearly irritated by the accidental sincerity.
"You move different," he said. "A bit."
Tonpa stared at him.
Leorio made a face. "Don't make this weird."
"It was weird before you opened your mouth."
"Shut up."
Tonpa did, but the thought remained.
You move different.
A bit.
Small.
Not enough to matter to most people.
Enough to matter to him.
His body had not become stronger in any miraculous sense. He was not suddenly fast. Not suddenly graceful. Not suddenly anything heroic.
But the old drag was changing.
The dead heaviness.
The sense of carrying a failed man's body from one humiliation to the next.
Something had started to burn away.
And for the first time since waking in this world, the change did not feel like accidental survival.
It felt earned.
That frightened him more than it should have.
Because earning change led to wanting more of it.
The candidates began moving again, called onward toward the next stage of the exam. The rhythm of it felt almost absurd now: terror, recovery, movement; fear, survival, movement; no pause long enough to become safety.
Tonpa followed with the others.
Ahead, Gon and Killua walked side by side. Kurapika moved in calm silence. Leorio muttered under his breath at the state of his suit and the state of the universe.
Tonpa kept pace.
His shoulders still hurt. His ankle still complained. His hands still felt raw.
But his steps landed differently now.
A little cleaner.
A little lighter.
He did not know what that meant yet.
Only that it meant something.
And as the exam pulled them onward yet again, one thought stayed with him more stubbornly than the pain:
He had spent every phase so far trying not to die.
That had been enough.
It would not stay enough.
Not in this world.
Not with Hisoka watching.
Not with Netero noticing.
Not with the story already shifting under his feet.
If he wanted to survive what came after the exam—
really survive, not just stumble from one disaster to the next—
then sooner or later, Tonpa would have to become someone the world could no longer afford to underestimate.
And that, he was beginning to realize, was a far more dangerous wish than staying alive.