Chapter 18: Gourmet Witch Menchi
It was sunset by the time the participants finished roasting the Great Stamp Boars. The scent of charred meat filled the air, heavy and oily, as the last of the boar carcasses were placed on the long stone slabs. Most of the hunters looked exhausted—drenched in sweat, hands blackened from the work.
Standing near the massive fire pit, Buhara stretched and yawned, his large frame towering over the others. His appetite was legendary, and the hundred-plus hunters watched in awe as he eyed the boars laid out before him, all 198 in total.
With a single glance, Buhara smirked and settled himself on a makeshift seat. The examinees tensed, waiting. The silence was thick with anticipation.
Without further delay, Buhara tore into the first roasted pig. He devoured it effortlessly, his mouth a blur of motion, each bite echoing in the silence. The massive boar, which took six people to hoist onto the fire, was reduced to bones within minutes. Then he moved on to the next one. And the next.
Each boar disappeared faster than the one before, and soon, Buhara was in a steady rhythm, devouring entire pigs in seconds.
The examinees, who had fought so hard to bring down the beasts and meticulously prepared them, could do nothing but watch in stunned silence. Every so often, they glanced at one another, disbelief written across their faces.
Buhara let out a satisfied belch after finishing the 50th pig. His belly visibly expanded, but he showed no signs of slowing down. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his eyes had taken on a glazed, almost sleepy look as he continued eating, his mind wandering in and out of focus. But his hands moved with machine-like precision, tearing apart the boars and tossing aside the bones.
Somewhere around the 150th roast pig, Buhara's eyes began to droop, his movements becoming slower, but still, he pressed on. His hands reached for another boar as he muttered, half-asleep, "This is pointless… could've been sleeping all day…"
By the time the last pig was gone, and the final bone clattered to the ground, Buhara slouched back in his seat. He patted his stomach, letting out a low, satisfied groan. His eyelids fluttered, clearly on the verge of sleep.
With a lazy wave of his hand, he declared, "All of them pass… too much work to think about it. Could've done something better like sleeping."
The examinees erupted in cheers, some collapsing to the ground in relief, while others exchanged looks of disbelief. They had survived one of the most brutal phases of the exam, and all of them had passed.
"This amazing," Gon said, "I don't anyone could eat that much. Hunters are truly amazing."
Killua standing beside him gave a nod. "Yeah... But I don't want to become a hunter like him."
Nearby, Kurapika and Anita looked at the scene with wide eyes.
Anita said, "I don't understand how this is even possible."
Kurapika said, "How can he eat more than his body weight?"
Leorio shook his head saying, "It's some trick, but who cares. We passed that's all that matters to me."
But before the celebrations could go too far, a sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Unbelievable!"
Menchi, her arms crossed and eyes flashing with anger, stormed over to Buhara. Her gaze swept over the bones littering the ground, her lip curled in disgust.
"This is a disgrace as a culinary hunter!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the cheers. "You passed all 198 of them? Have you even looked at these dishes? Half of them are burnt! Some are undercooked! The careful cooking is practically non-existent in most of these boars. And you—" She jabbed a finger at Buhara, who blinked at her sleepily. "—you didn't even taste them properly!"
Buhara yawned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tasted fine to me," he muttered. "All of them pass. I'm full. Can't bother with all that…too sleepy."
Menchi's eyes blazed. "You can't just pass everyone because you're sleepy! This is supposed to be a rigorous test, not an all-you-can-eat buffet! Standards, Buhara. Standards."
Buhara waved her off lazily, his eyelids drooping further. "I ate the standards too." He yawned again, his voice slurring as he drifted into a half-sleep. "If I had better working conditions… like a bed… then maybe I wouldn't have to deal with this…"
Menchi's jaw clenched, her fists tightening as she resisted the urge to throttle him.
She glanced around at the exhausted examinees, their relieved faces now tinged with anxiety. Her voice was sharp as she addressed the group. "Fine, you all passed this phase because Buhara can't stay awake long enough to judge properly. But remember, this exam isn't over. If you think for a second that mediocre work like this will get you through the second round, you're sorely mistaken."
The participants shifted uncomfortably, murmurs of nervousness spreading among them.
Buhara, now half-asleep, waved a lazy hand. "Let 'em pass… they worked hard… now I'm gonna sleep."
And with that, the massive glutton slumped forward, snoring softly.
Menchi's eye twitched in frustration. She turned away sharply, muttering under her breath, "Unbelievable…"
The participants stood awkwardly, unsure whether to celebrate or remain wary, as Menchi's warning lingered in their minds. They had passed the first phase, but the road ahead was still uncertain.
Menchi stood before the group of examinees, her arms crossed, her sharp gaze scanning the crowd. Despite her earlier frustration with Buhara's lenient judgment, she was determined to make the second phase of the exam far more challenging.
"Your next task," she announced, "is to prepare a traditional dish of mine. Hand moulded nigiri sushi."
A murmur of confusion spread through the group. Most of the examinees exchanged puzzled glances. Nigiri sushi? The words didn't resonate with the majority of them, who had little to no experience with the cuisine.
One bold participant stepped forward, a wiry man with a scar running across his cheek. "What's nigiri sushi?"
Menchi's expression didn't soften. "That's for you to find out," she said, her voice tinged with amusement. "Cooking is not just about following a recipe. It's about intuition, creativity, and knowledge. You will figure it out with the hints I just gave you and the ingredients… or you will fail."
The tension in the air grew. Several of the examinees shifted nervously on their feet. Menchi gestured toward the large building behind her. "Inside, you will find cooking stations for each of you, fully stocked with ingredients. I won't tell you how to prepare the dish, but you are free to make as many attempts as you like. Your task is to just make one satisfying sushi. The exam time limit will end once I'm full."
The building doors creaked open, and the participants filed inside. Their eyes widened at the sight before them: rows upon rows of cooking stations, gleaming knives, chef tools of all kinds, and a vast array of exotic ingredients lined the counters. There were containers filled with different kinds of rice, spices, and sauces, but there was one thing notably absent: a recipe.
The group hesitated for a moment before scattering to their assigned stations. They examined the unfamiliar tools and ingredients, already feeling the weight of the challenge. There was a brief pause, and then one of the examinees, a bald man with sharp eyes, snickered. Hanzo, couldn't help but voice his thoughts. "Nigiri sushi, huh? Well, that's no problem for me."
He looked around smugly. "I come from a country where sushi is a traditional dish. If I discreetly prepare my sushi, wait and go in last, I might be the only one to pass. No one else here knows what they're doing."
His words, spoken with such arrogance, grated on the nerves of the other examinees including Pokkle and strong groups pointed out by Tonpa and Gojo. A murmur of annoyance spread through the rest.
Leorio, standing nearby, scowled. "Hey, who does he think he is?" he whispered to Kurapika, his irritation obvious.
Kurapika, calmer, frowned but didn't immediately respond. His mind was already turning over the problem at hand. The sushi exam wasn't just about knowing what the dish was—it was about execution.
Leorio scratched the back of his head. "Nigiri sushi… what the hell is that anyway? All we've got here are a bunch of flavourings and some kind of exotic rice. And we've got knives. The knives must be important for something, right?"
Kurapika, deep in thought, glanced at the knives. "You're right about the knives. But sushi isn't just about cutting something. I've read before—sushi is made of rice, vinegar, and… raw fish. We need fish."
Leorio's eyes widened in realization. "Fish? But where are we supposed to get fish from?" His voice was louder than intended, causing a few heads to turn toward him.
Kurapika pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience thinning. "Leorio, keep your voice down. The fish… probably in the ponds and streams around here." But it was too late. Several other examinees had overheard their conversation.
Without warning, a rush of movement erupted as the examinees scattered, running in different directions. The realization that they needed fish sent them all scrambling toward the water sources they had seen earlier. Hanzo, realizing that his advantage had been accidentally revealed, cursed under his breath before sprinting out toward the nearest pond.
Leorio and Kurapika exchanged frustrated glances. "Great, now everyone's out there competing for fish," Leorio muttered.
Kurapika sighed. "It can't be helped now. We'll just have to catch our fish and focus on the rest of the process."
Gojo, standing back and watching the chaos unfold, smirked slightly. While the others were scrambling, he wasn't worried. He came from Japan, and grew up eating all kinds of sushi. His sharp eyes scanned the area. He wasn't focused on passing the test. He was waiting. Searching for the best opportunity to enact his plan.
"Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity. When possibilities within your dominion meet possibilities outside of it. So we wait."
As the other examinees rushed toward the ponds, tripping over each other in their haste to catch the best fish, Gojo casually adjusted his eyemask and strolled behind them at a leisurely pace.
The exam hall was filled with a flurry of activity as the participants hurriedly prepared their makeshift sushi dishes. The ingredients they had managed to gather were as varied as their methods, with fish of all shapes and sizes being caught from the local waters. Each examinee, hoping to impress Menchi, began crafting their interpretations of nigiri sushi in desperation, their eyes darting nervously toward the critical judge.
Leorio was among the first to step forward, his confidence shaky but still present. As he approached Menchi, he lifted the cloche covering his dish with a flair. Underneath was nothing more than a whole raw fish, barely cleaned, piled on top of rice swimming in vinegar.
Menchi's eyes twitched in visible irritation. "This isn't sushi," she said flatly, throwing the plate aside. The clattering of the dish echoed through the hall. "You can't just throw a fish on top of rice and expect to pass."
Leorio, his pride wounded, gritted his teeth. "Hey! That was a lot of effort!"
Menchi dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Effort without understanding is meaningless." She turned her attention to the rest of the examinees. "Listen up! Shape is important! If your dish isn't the proper shape, don't even bother bringing it to me."
Her words sent a wave of unease through the room. The idea of sushi was becoming clearer, but no one seemed to have a solid grasp on how to execute it properly. The pressure mounted.
Next up was Gon, who approached the table with determination. He presented his dish, a whole fish with its middle covered in rice. He smiled hopefully as Menchi inspected it.
Menchi's expression was flat. "This isn't any better than the last guy's."
Gon's face fell. "No better than Leorio's?" he muttered, disheartened. Kurapika, standing nearby, placed a hand on Gon's shoulder. "Don't be discouraged. You're on the right track. It just needs refinement."
Leorio, overhearing this, shouted from across the room. "What's that supposed to mean?!"
The rejections continued. Anita approached next, nervously presenting a tiny fish skewered with balls of rice. Menchi took one look and immediately rejected it. "Sushi isn't kebab. Get out of here."
The spearman followed, revealing a fish stuffed with rice, hoping the creativity of the dish might earn him some points. But Menchi, unimpressed, waved him off. "Rice inside the fish? You're overthinking it."
A military man presented a large rice ball, shaped meticulously but missing the essence of sushi. Menchi barely glanced at it before rejecting him too.
One by one, the examinees found their efforts tossed aside, Menchi's patience clearly running thin. The room became increasingly tense as examinee after examinee was dismissed. Some of the contestants had become so desperate they were throwing together whatever they could in hopes that something would stick.
Killua approached next, calm but focused. He revealed a raw fish sitting in a savoury sauce, carefully plated with rice on the side. It was simple but elegant.
Menchi barely glanced at it before shaking her head. "Definitely not sushi."
Killua narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Hisoka, who had prepared something similar, watched the scene unfold with a smirk. He didn't even bother presenting his dish, already sensing Menchi's disapproval.
Watching this unfold from a distance, the previous phase examiner, Satotz, grew concerned. He had been quietly observing the sushi exam, his usually calm demeanour now troubled. This phase was unravelling rapidly. Many of the examinees were being dismissed without having grasped the basic concept of sushi. Satotz subtly pulled out his communication device and sent a message to the exam commission. "Menchi is overdoing it again. It was supposed to be a test of one's ability to follow orders and improvise when faced with unclear directions, but this is too harsh."
Back in the hall, Kurapika was deep in thought. Menchi's constant rejections weren't just about poor craftsmanship—they were about misunderstanding the essence of the dish. He began to analyze the clues before him. Menchi's chopsticks were small, indicating that the sushi should be bite-sized. The lump of wasabi on her plate was modest, meaning the flavours shouldn't be overwhelming. The shallow dish of dark sauce suggested that only a hint of flavour was meant to complement the sushi, not drown it.
Kurapika pieced together the clues and approached Menchi with his next attempt. He presented a simple slice of fish, neatly placed over a lump of rice, carefully crafted to resemble the size and shape he had deduced.
Menchi's expression remained unreadable as she examined the dish. For a moment, Kurapika felt a flicker of hope. But it was quickly extinguished as she gave the dish a single look of disdain.
"This is not sushi," she declared, her tone sharp and dismissive.
Kurapika's eyes widened in disbelief. He had thought through every detail, every observation, and still, it was wrong? He stepped back, trying to maintain his composure, but the weight of the failure stung deeply.
Menchi, now visibly frustrated, scanned the room. "None of you understand the essence of sushi. It's not just about the ingredients. It's about balance, precision, and respect for the craft. You all have a long way to go."
The room fell silent as Menchi's harsh words echoed through the hall. The participants exchanged anxious glances, the weight of the challenge bearing down on them more heavily than ever. As the clock ticked down and more dishes were thrown aside, the exam commission was growing restless. Would any of the participants rise to the challenge? Or was this phase destined for failure?
The tension in the room reached a boiling point as Hanzo, the once smug participant, finally approached Menchi's table. His confidence hadn't wavered, and after watching so many others fail, he was sure his dish would meet the mark. With a swift motion, he lifted the cloche, revealing his creation: perfectly shaped nigiri sushi.
Menchi's eyes widened for a moment, genuinely surprised. The dish in front of her was the first that actually looked like sushi. She picked up a piece, her face showing no emotion, and tasted it. The room went silent, all eyes on her as she chewed slowly.
Finally, she swallowed and gave her verdict. "It's not good. Try again."
Hanzo froze, his expression turning from confidence to disbelief. "What?! Are you serious?" he shouted, his voice echoing across the hall.
Menchi's eyes narrowed as Hanzo continued, his frustration pouring out. "Nigiri sushi is nothing but a handful of rice, molded into a small, rectangular bite-sized shape with a thin slice of fish on top, and some wasabi in between. It's not rocket science! What am I supposed to change?!"
His voice grew louder as he threw his hands in the air, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. The other examinees, overhearing Hanzo's outburst, started to grin. He had just laid out the basic formula for sushi, something most of them had been missing until now.
Menchi's patience was wearing thin. She slammed her hand on the table and stood up, facing Hanzo with fierce eyes. "It takes ten years on average to master the techniques to make good sushi!" she barked. "Do you think an amateur like you can do in a day what takes a decade to perfect?"
Hanzo, still fuming, clenched his fists. "Then why the hell is this part of the Hunter Exam?! If it's impossible for us to make it properly, what's the point of this phase?"
Before Menchi could respond, Buhara, sitting off to the side, half-asleep and barely paying attention, muttered lazily, "He does… kinda have a point."
The examinees murmured in agreement, but Menchi's glare cut through the noise. She snapped her fingers in front of Buhara's face, silencing him and everyone else. "This is my test. Not his. Not yours. If you want to pass, you'll do better."
Hanzo seethed but didn't dare retort further. He stormed off, muttering under his breath, while the other examinees tried to contain their excitement. Now that Hanzo had unwittingly revealed the correct form for the dish, they had something to work with. But Menchi's words still hung over them like a dark cloud. It wasn't enough to make sushi that looked right—it had to meet her impossible standards.
The room was still thick with tension, but now there was also a growing sense of determination. They were running out of time, but with Hanzo's slip-up, there was a glimmer of hope, and the room became a flurry of activity Gritting their teeth, they moulded rice and cut fish with a new sense of purpose. This time, their dishes at least resembled proper sushi.
First up was Gon. His face was set in determination as he placed his plate in front of Menchi. The sushi looked much better than his first attempt, but as she took a bite, her eyes softened slightly, though her expression remained firm. She swallowed and said, "Your rice is under-seasoned. Sushi is about balance. Try again… next time." She slid his plate aside, not wasting another second.
Pokkle followed next, nervously holding his breath as Menchi picked up his offering. She chewed slowly, then shook her head. "The fish you used is too oily. Sushi needs a delicate touch. It's better suited for sashimi." Pokkle stepped back, defeated but wiser for her advice.
Killua went next, his usual calm demeanour betraying a flicker of interest in this challenge. His sushi was visually flawless—sharp, clean cuts of fish over perfectly moulded rice. Menchi took a piece, and for a moment, there was silence. She sighed, setting it down. "You have the technique, but the wasabi is too overpowering. It drowns the flavour of the fish. Sushi is subtle." Killua merely shrugged, accepting the criticism with his usual indifference.
Kurapika followed closely behind, hoping to have learned from his last rejection. His dish was smaller, more refined, and well-proportioned. Menchi took one bite, then another, before shaking her head again. "Your rice is better, but you didn't cut the fish against the grain. It's too chewy."
Anita presented her sushi next, visibly anxious. Her effort was decent—better than her skewered attempt—but Menchi shook her head after the first bite. "Your rice-to-fish ratio is off. The fish is cut properly, but the rice is too dense."
One by one, Menchi rejected their dishes, but this time, there was a noticeable difference. She wasn't simply throwing them away or dismissing them harshly. Her criticism, though blunt, was now more constructive. It was clear she was pushing them, testing them not only on skill but on their ability to take feedback and improve.
As Anita walked away with her rejected plate, Menchi stood up, dusting off her hands and glancing at the clock. "You've all improved," she said, her tone softening for the first time since the exam started. "But none of you have made something truly remarkable."
She glanced around at the exhausted examinees, all of whom were hoping for one last chance. "Unfortunately…" she trailed off, placing her hand over her stomach. "I'm almost full. The test will be over soon."
A collective groan echoed throughout the room. Time was running out, and the few remaining chances to pass seemed to be slipping away. Gon, Killua, Kurapika, Anita and the others exchanged desperate glances, realizing they might be nearing the end of the road.
As Menchi stood there, seemingly about to close the test, Leorio's voice cut through the growing tension. "This has to be a joke! How can we all flunk just because she's picky about sushi?"
Killua, leaning against a counter with his arms crossed, scowled. "This is stupid. What does making sushi have to do with being a Hunter?"
Gon, usually calm and optimistic, couldn't help but agree. "It's unfair… how are we supposed to know how to make something we've never even heard of?"
The room buzzed with growing frustration, a few more examinees voicing their anger. The tension was palpable. Everyone was tired, upset, and on the verge of giving up.
In the middle of all this chaos, Gojo casually walked forward, his hands tucked in his pockets. His usual laid-back expression remained unchanged as he approached the nearest workstation. He didn't say a word as he washed his hands, setting the stage for something none of them expected.
The room quieted down as everyone noticed him. Gojo, without so much as acknowledging the crowd, grabbed a handful of rice, rolling it between his fingers with the precision that made Menchi's eyes narrow. She crossed her arms, watching intently.
He began shaping the rice into neat, bite-sized pieces with effortless finesse, his fingers moving with the speed and precision of someone who had done this for years. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. It was as though the rice simply obeyed him, forming into perfect little rectangles under his touch.
Menchi, now watching closely, couldn't help but comment. "Look at how he's moulding the rice. He's using just the right pressure, not too firm or too loose. Most of you were overworking the rice, but this... this is textbook."
Gojo moved on to the fish, selecting it with care, choosing the freshest, most tender cuts. His knife slid through it like it was air, leaving behind thin, delicate slices that draped over the rice like silk. The cuts were precise, the angle perfect, ensuring that each piece would melt in the mouth with minimal effort.
"His knife skills…" Menchi muttered under her breath. "He's cutting the fish against the grain, maximizing tenderness. Every piece is uniform—no jagged edges, no uneven cuts. This is a high-level technique."
The crowd, previously filled with complaints and doubt, had gone completely silent. Even Leorio, who had been about to start another rant, was frozen in place, eyes wide as he watched Gojo work.
Without missing a beat, Gojo reached for the wasabi, applying just a small dab between the fish and rice, knowing that balance was key. He didn't overdo it, unlike the others who had drowned their sushi in wasabi, but instead used just enough to enhance the flavour without overpowering the delicate fish.
Menchi nodded approvingly. "That's the perfect amount of wasabi. Too much would mask the flavour of the fish, but too little, and it's bland. He's striking the perfect balance."
Gojo continued assembling his sushi, his movements so fluid and graceful that it seemed as if he was dancing. His hands never stopped moving, but nothing was rushed. It was as though time itself had slowed for him, every step a calculated move in a well-rehearsed routine.
Finally, he plated the sushi, arranging each piece with an artist's precision. Every detail was immaculate, from the way the fish glistened to the symmetry of the plate. It looked like something straight out of a high-end sushi restaurant.
Gojo placed the plate of expertly crafted sushi in front of Menchi, and just as she reached for her chopsticks to taste it, he swiftly picked it back up and, without hesitation, popped one piece into his mouth. The room froze. Everyone stared in disbelief as Gojo chewed thoughtfully, savouring the flavour with exaggerated enjoyment.
"Mmm… perfect balance," Gojo said, his voice casual but loud enough for everyone to hear. He glanced at Menchi with a mischievous smile. "You know, this is *exactly* what sushi should taste like. Too bad you won't get to try it."
Leorio's jaw dropped, his eyes wide. "Did he just—"
Killua blinked, looking between Gojo and Menchi. "He just ate it in front of her."
Menchi's face turned red with a mixture of shock and rage. Her chopsticks hovered in midair as she struggled to process what had just happened.
Before she could respond, Gojo wiped his hands dramatically on a towel and turned to face the crowd. "Now, I know what you're all thinking," he said, spreading his arms wide as if addressing an audience. "How did I get so good at making sushi?"
A few examinees leaned in, curious despite themselves.
"Well," Gojo continued, launching into his tale, "it wasn't easy. When I was a child I got lost during a seastorm and washed up on a remote island off the coast of nowhere, where I trained under a legendary sushi master for ten years. Every day, I crafted sushi using rice grains hand-picked by monks who lived atop mountains so high, they touched the sky. The fish? Caught from the depths of the deepest oceans, where only the most skilled fishermen dare to go."
The tired crowd's eyes widened as they hung on his every word, even though some believed it to be a fabrication.
"Through blood, sweat, and tears, I mastered the art of sushi-making," Gojo said dramatically, waving his arms for emphasis. "And now… now I've perfected the craft. But here we are, being judged by someone who's more interested in nitpicking than actually appreciating our skills!"
A murmur spread through the room. Leorio folded his arms, nodding along. "He's right! This isn't some cooking show!"
Gojo continued, fueling the fire. "This is the Hunter Exam, not a competition for the next master chef! Why are we being judged on something like this? Is being able to cook sushi really what it takes to be a Hunter?"
Hanzo clenched his fists. "This test is ridiculous. I came here to be a Hunter, not a sushi apprentice!"
The wrestler, Todo, stood up, towering over everyone as he slammed his fist on the table, sending plates and utensils flying. "Yeah! Let's drag her to the Exam Commission and make them hear us out! This test is a joke!"
The Amori brothers, who had failed miserably at their attempts to make sushi, nodded in agreement. "He's right! Gourmet Hunters? What even is that? Can they really call themselves Hunters?"
A spear user yelled out, "We came here to prove we're strong, not to be failed for not knowing how to cook!"
The discontent spread like wildfire. One by one, the examinees stood up, overturning their cooking stations and throwing equipment to the ground. Plates shattered, knives clattered, and pots were kicked aside. The kitchen descended into chaos as a full-blown riot broke out. The air was thick with frustration, and the sound of destruction filled the room.
Todo, in a fit of rage, grabbed one of the counters and ripped it from its place, throwing it against the wall. "We didn't come here for this! I'm not leaving until someone gives me a real test!"
The Amori brothers followed suit, knocking over trays and smashing whatever they could find. "We demand a real Hunter's test, not this!"
Menchi, who had been silently seething, finally stood up. She watched as the crowd continued their rampage, her patience completely worn out. She glanced at Gojo, who flashed her a playful grin, clearly enjoying the chaos he'd stirred up.
Without a word, Menchi turned and walked towards the exit, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. Before leaving, she threw a look over her shoulder and said, "You want to know what it takes to be a Gourmet Hunter? Fine. I'll show you. Wait here, and I'll bring back a real example of what being a Gourmet Hunter is all about."
With that, she stormed out, leaving the rioting examinees behind.
Buhari, still half-asleep and slumped in his seat, opened one eye and mumbled, "I don't get fed enough to care about this."
Outside, under the shade of a large tree, Gojo approached Statoz, who had been watching the chaotic scene unfold from a distance, his arms folded thoughtfully.
"Enjoying the show?" Gojo asked, leaning casually against the tree, his eyes glinting with amusement.
Statoz glanced at him, his expression neutral. "It's getting out of hand in there. I knew this phase was tough, but I didn't expect things to escalate this far."
Gojo smirked, crossing his arms. "You saw what happened. This test isn't just tough—it's unfair. Menchi's not judging us on our potential as Hunters, but on something as niche as her personal expertise. Most of these participants didn't even know what sushi was before today."
Statoz raised an eyebrow. "Menchi, also famously known as Gourment Witch Menchi, is a distinguished chef and a one-star Hunter at just 21. Her standards are high because she's earned the right to have them. It's no surprise her arrogance follows. She's one of the best in her field."
Gojo nodded thoughtfully, then leaned in slightly. "That's all well and good, but this is the Hunter Exam. People trained for years to be here, not to be dismissed because they didn't roll sushi right."
Statoz sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. "I agree with you. The test, as it is now, is absolutely unfair. You're not wrong to complain. I'll send a message to the commission immediately. But even if they see reason, there's still the matter of Menchi. She won't budge easily and by rules of respect one hunter must give to another the final decision is hers. But I would still be trying to take to the chairman."
Gojo gave a knowing smile. "But what if we could convince Menchi to scrap the test for another."
Statoz looked at him curiously.
"If we are allowed to, we would like to propose a little something to the chairman with the respected hunters all in agreement… tweaking the test."
The sun was setting and Menchi's hair flowed behind her like a shimmering veil as she moved effortlessly through the forest, her feelers stretching out in every direction. These ultra-thin tendrils, no more than 0.1 microns wide, starting from the end of her hair extended far beyond what the human eye could follow, their tensile strength surpassing 150 kilograms each. To any onlooker, it would appear as though Menchi was flying, her movements swift and graceful, but in truth, it was her mastery over the feelers that allowed her to glide effortlessly from tree to tree.
As she crossed the mountainside, her feelers reached out, brushing against the air, the trees, and the ground, sensing every minute change in temperature and texture. The pink strands worked like sensors, guiding her toward her target. A slight drop in temperature and the telltale signs of heat rising from a large body ahead told her she was close.
A massive creature came into view—a horned bear. Its hulking form stood nearly 2 meters tall at the shoulder, its broad frame covered in thick fur and moss that clung to its horns. The creature was immense, its weight easily exceeding a ton, muscles rippling beneath its thick hide. Yet Menchi was undeterred.
With a flick of her head, her feelers lashed out, wrapping tightly around the creature's legs and neck, pinning it down with astonishing strength. The horned bear roared, thrashing ing against the invisible force that bound it, but Menchi's control was absolute. For a moment, it seemed the beast was subdued.
Quickly, with precision honed by years of experience, Menchi extended another set of feelers toward the bear's horns. The moss growing on its horns had properties Menchi needed—a rare ingredient for a high-class gourmet dish. In a fluid motion, she carefully shaved the moss from its horns, collecting it into a small container she had prepared.
Satisfied with her prize, Menchi released the beast before it could regain its full strength. The horned bear roared once more, but by the time it lumbered to its feet, Menchi was already gliding away, disappearing into the forest canopy as though she had never been there. The feelers retracted silently, and with her mission accomplished, Menchi made her way back toward the exam site, the rare ingredient secured.
As Menchi returned to the exam site, the examinees sneered at her. They had expected something grand, and seeing her empty-handed, their scepticism grew louder.
"She came back with nothing," one of them muttered.
Gojo, leaning against a tree with an amused smirk, added to the chorus, "What, you flew across a mountain just to come back with air?"
Gon, ever observant, squinted, tilting his head, "Wait… looks like there's something."
The crowd quieted slightly as Menchi reached into her chest and pulled out a small, delicate container from between her breasts. She held it up with a confident smirk.
The crowd stared at it in confusion. "What is that supposed to be?" another examinee scoffed, waving dismissively.
Gojo chimed in again with a laugh, "That is just garbage."
Gon added, "That looks like moss..."
Menchi smiled at the remark and nodded toward Gon. "Nice going, kid. You're right."
Gon blinked, eyes widening. "It is moss?"
"Not just any moss," Menchi said, holding the container high for all to see. "This is horned bear moss, harvested from the horns of one of the most dangerous creatures in this region."
The crowd muttered amongst themselves, many still doubtful. To them, it was just a handful of green specks—what could it possibly mean?
Without missing a beat, Menchi retrieved a simple plate of rice and carefully sprinkled the moss on top. The moment the moss hit the warm rice, a rich, earthy aroma wafted through the air, filling the room with a scent that made several of the examinees' mouths water instantly. The aroma was deep and complex, almost grounding, as if pulling them closer to the very essence of the earth.
Menchi watched as the crowd's expressions shifted from doubt to surprise, some even visibly salivating.
"Culinary hunters," she began, her voice carrying through the now-silent room, "aren't just here to make fancy dishes. We are the ones who preserve the natural world through our craft. This moss? It's incredibly rare, growing only on the horns of a specific species of bear. It thrives on the minerals found in the beast's body, taking years to cultivate just enough for one serving."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "Gourmet hunters work not only to push the boundaries of flavour but also to protect ecosystems and the delicate balance between nature and food. The art of cooking isn't just about filling your stomach—it's about respecting the ingredients, the world that provides them, and the life that sustains them."
The room was silent. The weight of her words, combined with the intoxicating aroma of the dish, shifted the mood entirely.
Menchi stood tall, the small plate of rice and moss in hand, her presence commanding the respect that had been missing before. "This is the essence of being a Gourmet Hunter—finding the rarest ingredients, harnessing them to create something truly special, and preserving the beauty of nature in the process. This," she gestured to the dish, "is why this test matters."
Gojo, still leaning against the tree, yawned and waved a hand dismissively. "Spare us the lecture, Menchi. All this talk about preserving nature and cooking moss is cute and all, but the real question is—are you going to pass us or not?"
The crowd turned its attention to her, eager for an answer. Menchi, however, didn't flinch. She calmly placed the small container of moss back into her chest pocket and smirked.
"No," she said coldly. "You're all still failing. This demonstration was just a parting gift."
The room erupted in outrage.
Leorio threw his hands up, his voice booming, "Are you kidding me? After all that, you're still gonna fail everyone?"
Killua narrowed his eyes, his hands clenched into fists, while Gon stared at Menchi, confusion etched on his face. "But... the test was supposed to be about making sushi!"
The anger from earlier quickly reignited in the crowd. And it was Gojo, now standing up, who took it upon himself to fan the flames. "See? What did I tell you?" he said loudly, addressing the mob of examinees. "All that talk about bears and moss is just a smokescreen! She's making this up to dodge the question—culinary hunters are a joke!"
The mob seethed in agreement, nodding at Gojo's words, their frustration boiling over. Todo, the massive wrestler, stepped forward, veins bulging in his neck as he cracked his knuckles.
"This is the Hunter Exam, not some cooking show!" he roared, stepping closer to Menchi. "We're not here to become chefs!"
Next to him, the spearman known as *The Sting* twirled his weapon with a deadly finesse. "We've had enough of your games, Menchi."
The Amori brothers, always together, stepped up as well, fists clenched. "You talk about hunting dangerous animals for food that lines across the mountains and you say you went and came back here with in a hour. I don't believe you," the oldest brother said. "I don't see you as a hunter—just a fraud!"
The crowd, now fully riled up, began moving toward her, their intent clear.
Gojo grinned as he watched the scene unfold. "Maybe it's time you showed us what a 'Gourmet Hunter' really is," he taunted, his voice low but cutting through the chaos.
Menchi's eyes narrowed, her calm composure unwavering. "So, you all think this is a joke, huh?" she muttered, pulling a pair of chef knives from the holsters at her waist.
Todo charged first, his massive fists aiming to crush her. Menchi sidestepped, using minimal movement, and with a single fluid motion, kicked him in the chin while extending her to ninth degrees. Todo dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, his legs buckling beneath him.
"Amateur," Menchi scoffed as she knocked him out with the blunt end of the knife striking the back of the head.
The examinee named Sting lunged forward next, his spear aimed directly at her chest. In a blur of motion, Menchi ducked beneath the thrust, grabbed the shaft of the spear, and yanked it forward. Sting stumbled, off-balance. She then flipped him over her shoulder with a clean, precise movement, disarming him mid-air. The spear clattered to the ground.
Before The Amori brothers could even get close, Menchi spun the chef knives in her hands, deflecting their coordinated punches with ease. A swift kick sent the youngest brother flying back, while the oldest received the blunt edge of a knife to his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Rest of attackers too faced similar fates.
The crowd watched in stunned silence as one by one, the most aggressive participants hit the ground, groaning in pain. Menchi hadn't even needed to use Nen. Her sheer skill alone was enough.
She stood there, the tip of one of her knives resting casually on the ground as she looked down at the defeated fighters. "You want to know why being a Gourmet Hunter matters?" she asked, her voice icy. "This is why. Do you think hunting is just about brute strength? Do you think fighting is the only way to survive? If that's the case, then none of you will ever be true hunters."
Gojo's grin faltered slightly as Menchi turned her gaze toward him. "Instigating chaos? Clever move, but not clever enough."
The remaining crowd, too shocked to continue their assault, began to back away. Menchi, still holding her knives, returned them to their sheaths and stood tall.
"Now, if you're done throwing your tantrum, maybe you'll start to take this exam seriously."
Menchi narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on the handle of her chef knife as Gojo stepped forward, a relaxed grin plastered on his face. She'd handled the mob of examinees with ease, but something about Gojo's calm confidence was different. His nonchalance didn't sit right with her.
"You think you can do better?" Menchi challenged.
Without missing a beat, Gojo laughed, "Better? I'm about to make you look like an amateur."
Before she could respond, Gojo launched himself at her, moving with such speed that Menchi barely had time to react. She swung her knife toward him, aiming for a precise strike at his arm, but Gojo caught the blade between two fingers effortlessly. The force of her strike didn't even make him flinch.
"What...?" Menchi's eyes widened in shock.
With a quick twist of his wrist, Gojo flipped her over. Menchi twisted her body in midair, managing to land on her feet, but just barely. She scowled, her stance dropping into a more defensive posture. He was stronger than she anticipated. Much stronger.
Menchi prepared to activate her Nen, sensing this fight would demand more than just physical prowess. But before she could release her aura, a ringing sound cut through the tension. Her communication device.
Still pointing her knife toward Gojo, Menchi hesitated and then leapt back to answer the call, maintaining her stance.
"Menchi here," she said, her voice clipped.
The voice on the other end was stern and to the point. "This is from commission. You are requested to quickly devise a fair challenge for the participants."
Menchi's frustration spilled over. "None of these people are worthy! They don't have the skills. This test—"
The voice on the other end interrupted her, its tone commanding. "Worthiness can be judged through the old ways of combat, Menchi. This was proposed by the participants. The chairman is on his way to the location, so make it quick."
The line went dead, leaving Menchi standing there with a look of frustration. She clenched her fist around her knife, her gaze shifting back to Gojo. He was still grinning, unfazed by the exchange.
Gojo took a step forward, addressing the crowd with a raised hand. "Alright, everyone! Here's the deal! I'll face off against Menchi, and when I win, we all pass. This woman just tried failing all of us and now she thinks we should let her do it?"
The crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and murmurs. Some were sceptical, but many were eager for any chance at success after the unfairness of the sushi test. They cheered for Gojo shouting his badge number for support.
Menchi's eyes narrowed. "You're making promises you can't keep."
Gojo didn't back down. "So you accept the deal then? Defeating me is the only way to prove to all of them," he said, gesturing to the crowd, "that culinary hunters aren't total pretentious frauds. Your skills in the kitchen don't matter out here if you can't back them up with real strength. Unlike earlier, where those guys held back because you're a woman."
At that, the crowd stirred. The tension in the air thickened. Menchi could see in their faces that Gojo had struck a nerve. The examinees were looking at her differently now, not as a judge, but as someone who had to prove herself. Gojo had turned the tables on her.
"Fine," Menchi growled, taking a step forward. "But don't think for a second I'll go easy on you."
Gojo's smirk deepened, and he spread his arms wide, taunting her. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Buhara, the massive gourmet hunter who had been half-asleep through much of the chaos, suddenly stood up. His enormous frame cast a long shadow over the crowd as he yawned lazily, scratching his stomach.
"Enough of this whining," Buhara grumbled, his voice a low rumble. "You're all buzzing like flies. It's ruining my sleep." He lumbered toward Gojo, his sleepy demeanour shifting into something far more dangerous. "I'll take the fight instead of Menchi."
Menchi raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. She stepped back, letting Buhara take the lead, though her annoyance at the situation was still evident.
Gojo, his usual confident grin plastered on his face, took a casual step forward. "1 on 1 or 2 on 1, I'll make you both need 911."
A ripple of confusion spread through the crowd at Gojo's strange statement. Most of them had no idea what "911" meant, but they could sense the smugness in his voice, and that was enough to rile up some of the spectators.
From the sidelines, Hisoka, who had been quietly observing the whole ordeal, mumbled under his breath, "What is Satoru trying to do?" His eyes gleamed with interest, though his expression remained unreadable.
The military-armored man standing nearby chimed in, watching Gojo closely. "That kid isn't interested in passing anymore," he said, his voice deep and analytical. "For some reason, it's the fight that he wants."
Hisoka's smile grew, his eyes narrowing with excitement. "Fascinating, isn't he?A boy after my own heart."
Back in the centre of the clearing, Gojo stretched lazily, his body language exuding an unsettling calm. Buhara cracked his neck, his bulk towering over the much leaner Gojo. Though Buhara was known for his appetite more than his combat skills, his sheer size and strength were undeniable.
"I'm warning you," Buhara said with a sleepy grin, "I'm not the type to hold back, even if you're a little shrimp."
Gojo chuckled softly, his hands sliding into his pockets. "Those fat arms can't hold back anything."
The tension in the air thickened as the crowd stepped back, giving the two enough space. This wasn't about the exam anymore—it was about dominance, about proving who was stronger. Gojo's demeanour, calm and almost mocking, only added to the anticipation.
Menchi watched from the sidelines, her arms crossed, though her expression revealed that she already knew about what would happen next.
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