章 6: Dolle
In that liminal state between wakefulness and sleep, Gojo's thoughts drifted like shadows. His mind replayed the fight with Fenwick, rewinding the encounter like a piece of recorded footage. The harpoon-like attack intrigued him, so he mentally retraced its creation and function, dissecting each step with precision.
'That harpoon technique... it all started with the separation of energy,' he thought. 'Fenwick seemed to extract a ball of energy from his aura. The separation was about 93% efficient, with 7% of the energy lost, likely due to thermodynamic principles, similar to how Cursed Energy operates. Any time energy is transferred or transformed, there's some loss. But the efficiency was still high, which tells me he has excellent control at this stage.'
Gojo's mind drifted to the next step. 'Then he formed the black harpoon by parting some energy from this orb. The efficiency dropped to around 70%. That's a significant decrease. Why? Is it due to the complexity of manifesting a physical form from raw energy? Or perhaps the channel he used to mould the energy into the harpoon wasn't perfectly suited for that kind of transformation. It's a matter of thermodynamics—energy becoming more 'ordered' into a physical construct could naturally lead to more loss.'
He recalled how the harpoon had been enhanced, becoming more powerful just before it was launched. 'He must have boosted its potency with some form of reinforcement, possibly using another surge of energy. But even then, the process showed about 80% efficiency. More loss, but interestingly less than during the initial manifestation. Does this suggest that the channel for reinforcing an existing construct is more efficient than creating it from scratch? Or could it be that the reinforcement process itself is inherently less taxing on the energy?'
Gojo's thoughts then lingered on the control Fenwick exerted over the harpoon via the whistle. 'Commanding the harpoon with his whistle used around 80% efficiency as well, with about 20% lost used energy per second of communication. This is just about the energy involved in the communication—directing energy-based constructs with sound, and yet there's a consistent loss with each command. The question is whether this loss is due to the whistle's efficiency as a channel for energy or if the energy itself becomes less stable with time, gradually dissipating.'
He pondered the implications. 'Is the varying degree of energy loss directly tied to the nature of the channel used at each step? Or does the energy itself inherently lose stability as it's shaped and manipulated? If the latter is true, then understanding how to minimize that instability could be key to perfecting techniques like Fenwick's.'
The dream dissolved into a deeper sleep, but Gojo's mind continued to churn. 'I'll need to test this hypothesis when I wake up. There might be more to these varying processes than pure thermodynamics… maybe mastery over the energy could affect the results.... or a method that could push the efficiency closer to 100%. I need more data and for that, I need to observe another proficient nen user.'
While Gojo slept, his mind drifted into a familiar territory—a vast, dark expanse that gradually shaped itself into the scene of the previous battle. He had been practising this method of 'mindscape training' since he was three years old, using it to dissect his fights, analyze every detail, and refine his techniques to perfection. This time was no different.
The rocking deck materialized first, the rhythmic sway of the ship mimicking the treacherous movement beneath his feet during the fight. Cargos and crates appeared next, their positions exactly as they had been, scattered across the deck. The storm raged around him, dark clouds swirling above, rain lashing down, and the wind howling in his ears. The chaotic sounds of battle filled the air, but Gojo remained calm, his senses heightened.
In this reconstructed world, everything was exactly as it had been. The people, too, appeared—Fenwick standing before him, his eyes cold and calculating, and the other passengers and crew, their forms hazy and indistinct at the edges of Gojo's focus. But here, in his mindscape, Gojo could control the flow of time, slow it down, rewind, and replay the fight as many times as he needed.
He began the fight just as it had happened. Fenwick's technique: 'Blackthorn' materialized—a black harpoon-like arrow that floated ominously in the air before being launched by the sharp sound of a whistle. Gojo dodged it effortlessly, just as he had before, but this time, his mind was focused on every detail. He analyzed the trajectory, the speed, the subtle shift in Fenwick's stance as he blew the whistle.
When Fenwick charged, hammering a punch towards Gojo's side, Gojo blocked it, feeling the force of the blow reverberate through his arm. But now, he considered alternatives. 'What if I had countered differently?'
He replayed the scene, this time opting to pivot slightly, redirecting Fenwick's force with minimal effort. The difference was slight, but it created an opening for a counterattack that didn't exist before.
He allowed the fight to progress, watching as Fenwick whistled again, commanding 'Blackthorn' to return for another strike. Gojo dodged, but now, instead of blocking Fenwick's spinning backkick with one hand, he imagined catching the leg and using it to throw Fenwick off balance, leveraging the momentum to his advantage. The crates scattered behind him were potential tools, their positions etched into his memory. He visualized smashing one with a well-timed blow, sending the debris into Fenwick's path to disrupt his movements.
'But what about the storm?' Gojo thought, pausing the scene. He focused on the chaotic environment around him—the rain, the wind, the slick deck beneath their feet. In reality, these factors had made the fight unpredictable, but here, Gojo sought to turn them into weapons. He resumed the fight, this time accounting for the wind's direction as he moved, using the rain to mask his steps and feint towards Fenwick's blind spots.
Every detail was scrutinized. When Gojo threw his shoes at Fenwick, he replayed the scene, considering different angles, and different trajectories. What if he had used them as distractions while preparing a more decisive strike? He imagined Fenwick's reaction, how his opponent's focus shifted as the shoes flew toward him. 'Could I have followed up with a more effective attack?'
As the fight played out, Gojo's mind explored countless possibilities, each one a potential improvement over the last. He watched himself moving through the motions, but with each iteration, he saw himself growing more efficient, more precise. The crates, the ropes, the rain, and even the storm itself—all became tools at his disposal in this mental reconstruction.
When Fenwick's 'Blackthorn' grazed his thigh in reality, Gojo replayed the moment, calculating how to avoid it entirely. He imagined moving a split second earlier, twisting his body just to avoid the attack without breaking his stride. And when he tackled Fenwick towards the railing, he visualized different outcomes, considering how he could have used the rope and crate more strategically, perhaps even using the storm's waves to aid in his manoeuvre.
The fight repeated over and over in his mind, the passing of time here felt much slower than the time outside, each time with subtle variations until Gojo felt he had mastered every possible outcome. He understood Fenwick's abilities, his weaknesses, and how to exploit them. He had dissected every moment of the battle, broken down every movement to its most fundamental components, and reconstructed it in a way that left no room for error.
Nex day, the morning sun crept over the horizon, its light cutting through the lingering gray of the storm's aftermath. The sea had calmed, with only the gentle rise and fall of the ship marking the once-turbulent waters. The survivors gradually made their way to the deck, drawn by the promise of sunlight and fresh air.
Gojo sat near the ship's railing, carefully laying out a pile of wet currency on a cloth to dry. The bills fluttered slightly in the breeze, each one a reminder of the dive he had taken during the battle. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, his usual carefree demeanour back in place despite the bandage on his thigh.
"Hey, Gon," Leorio said, leaning against the railing, "you ever seen a storm like that before?"
Gon shook his head, his eyes wide with wonder. "No, that was the first time! It was really scary, but also… kinda exciting, you know?"
Leorio chuckled, patting the younger boy on the back. "Yeah, you've got the right attitude. But just make sure you don't get too excited next time. We've got enough to worry about without you diving headfirst into danger."
Gon smiled, "Don't worry, Leorio. I'll be more careful."
Kurapika, standing a little way off, caught Anita's eye as she approached him cautiously. Her steps were careful, her red hair tied into twin tails swaying in the breeze, her body still sore from the injuries she'd sustained during the fight.
"Kurapika," she began, her voice cautious, "thank you for earlier. If it weren't for you, I don't think I'd still be standing."
Kurapika turned to her, his expression softening. "We all did what we had to. You were brave out there."
Anita nodded, then said, "You are aiming to hunt the Phantom Troupe for revenge."
"And you are aiming at the Zoldyck Family for revenge," Kurapika said, "In that we are both kind of similar."
Further down the deck, Karasu, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He seemed lost in thought, his expression unreadable. Elara, the sharp-eyed twin sword wielder, was nearby, tending to her injuries in silence.
The ship sailed steadily forward, the worst of the storm now a distant memory. Captain Olson, despite the heavy bandage, without his right hand, still stood resolutely at the helm. His good hand gripped the wheel, steering them towards safety with a determination born of experience. The pain etched on his face was ignored; his focus was solely on getting the ship to its destination.
As the morning wore on, the harbour came into view—a dark line on the horizon gradually growing more defined. Gojo turned, his Six Eyes zooming in on the scene and he spotted a flag he once saw in an encyclopaedia he had read back in the library of Port Town.
"Finally here."
Olson squinted against the sunlight and pulled out a pair of binoculars to get a better look. The scene came into sharp focus: a bustling port, with ships docked and workers milling about. But it was the flag that caught his attention—a yellow banner with a blue square and a green circle at its centre. The flag of the Kukan'yu Kingdom.
"We've made it," Olson murmured to himself, relief washing over him as he lowered the binoculars. He glanced back at the deck where the passengers were now gathering, most of them unaware of the harbour's approach. He steered the ship closer, guiding them towards Dolle Harbour with a sense of accomplishment despite the harrowing night they had endured.
As the ship docked at Dolle Harbour, the survivors disembarked, their palpable relief evident in the way they lingered on the solid ground. He called out, his voice carrying over the deck, "Prepare to dock! We'll be landing in Dolle Harbour soon."
As the ship docked at Dolle Harbour, the survivors disembarked, their relief palpable as they stepped onto solid ground. The harbour was bustling with activity, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. Workers moved with purpose, unloading cargo, and merchants hawked their wares to passersby. The sun was climbing higher, promising a warm day ahead.
Captain Olson, despite his injury, stood tall near the gangplank, his good hand resting on the hilt of his sword. As the passengers gathered around him, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention. His weathered face bore a stern but kindly expression, the lines of experience etched deeply into his skin.
"Alright, everyone," he began, his voice carrying over the noise of the harbour. "Before you go your separate ways, there's something I need to tell you."
The passengers looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Gon, Leorio, Kurapika, Gojo, Anita, Karasu, Elara, and the others formed a semicircle around him, each one still processing the events of the last night.
"The Hunter Exam is no ordinary test," Olson continued. "And finding the location of the first phase is part of the challenge. Officially, I'm not supposed to tell you anything. But given what we've been through together, and the fact that the pirates weren't part of the plan, I feel it's only fair to give you a bit of a head start."
Kurapika raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "And what might that be?"
Olson pointed towards the distant mountains that loomed over the harbour. "See that tall cedar tree on the mountain? You can't? It doesn't matter, just head towards the mountain top where you will find it. The exam site is somewhere in that direction. It's a landmark that will guide you."
Leorio frowned, glancing at the others. "Are you sure? Isn't this supposed to be a secret?"
The captain nodded. "It is. But given what you've shown me—the courage, the determination—I believe you all have what it takes to be Hunters. Consider this a small piece of advice from someone who tried and failed the exam himself."
Gon, with his usual enthusiasm, grinned and nodded. "Thank you, Captain! We'll find it, I promise!"
Gojo, adjusting his bandaged thigh, gave a small, respectful bow. "We appreciate the tip. It's more than we could have hoped for."
Kurapika and Anita exchanged glances, both silently acknowledging the captain's unexpected generosity. Elara, still nursing her injuries, simply nodded, while Karasu remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Captain Olson continued, his voice growing softer. "Just remember, the Hunter Exam is dangerous. Stay on guard, trust your instincts, and help each other when you can. And if you succeed, remember the people who helped you along the way."
There was a moment of solemn silence as the gravity of his words sank in. The journey ahead was fraught with peril, but they had already proven their resilience.
"Alright," Olson said, breaking the silence. "Good luck to all of you. Make it count."
Gon, Leorio, Kurapika, Gojo, and the others started making their way towards the distant mountains, the tall tree standing as a silent sentinel guiding them to their next challenge.
Kurapika nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "Thank you, Captain. We'll make sure to find it."
Leorio, who had been checking over his medical supplies, turned to Gojo. "Hey, Gojo, you coming with us?"
Gojo shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Nah, I think I'll take a different path. Besides, I like to do things my own way." He looked at the others, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. "You all take care of yourselves. We might run into each other again if you make it to the exam."
Gon, ever the optimist, beamed at Gojo. "I hope we do, Gojo! Good luck!"
Gojo chuckled, ruffling Gon's hair. "You too, kid. Keep that spirit up."
Kurapika gave Gojo a respectful nod. "Safe travels, Gojo."
Leorio crossed his arms, his tone a bit more gruff. "Try not to get into too much trouble."
Gojo shrugged. "Double it and give it to the next person."
With that, Gojo turned and walked away from the group, his torn outfit flaring slightly in the breeze. As he moved through the crowded market, he could feel the weight of their eyes on his back, but he didn't look back. He preferred to forge his own path, and this was just another step along that journey.
Gojo wandered through the marketplace, his eyes scanning the stalls until he found a vendor selling clothing. After a quick exchange of currency, he walked away with a new black outfit—simple but sharp. He checked into a modest motel nearby, the kind that offered privacy with no questions asked.
Inside his room, Gojo took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the grime and tension. The steady stream was soothing, a rare moment of calm. Once he was done getting freshened up, he dressed in his new clothes, feeling refreshed and ready.
Standing in front of the mirror, Gojo reached into his bag and pulled out a black sleeping mask. His usual glasses had served their purpose, but the Six Eyes were rapidly adapting to the new form of energy found in this world. The mask would help control the intensity, allowing him to focus without overwhelming his brain.
He tied the mask over his eyes, adjusting it until it sat comfortably. For a moment, he stood there, considering the reflection in the mirror—his familiar features now partially obscured, lending him a more enigmatic appearance.
Gojo strolled through the bustling streets, the warm sun overhead contrasting sharply with the stormy night they had just survived. The city had a vibrant energy to it, reminiscent of a place back in the old world. The streets were lined with colourful buildings, and the air was filled with the sounds of street vendors calling out their wares and the rhythm of exotic music playing in the distance.
He found a local food corner, a small outdoor café with tables set up on the sidewalk under large, green umbrellas. The smell of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air, making his stomach rumble. Gojo ordered a plate of whatever the table next to him was eating, a traditional dish made of black beans, pork, and sausage, served with rice, collard greens, and slices of orange. The rich, savoury flavours and the citrusy tang of the oranges provided a comforting meal.
'It's strange, my body is getting used to this aura at a much faster rate now to the point that it could be used in combat. Is this because of stress from the flight?'
As he ate, Gojo's attention was drawn to a group of martial artists sitting at a table nearby. They were dressed in simple, traditional garb, and their demeanour was calm and focused. He sensed their 'nen'—not as contained as Fenwick's, yet with a distinct quality that intrigued him.
Their aura was more controlled, with less leakage than usual, which intrigued him.
Gojo observed them discreetly, noticing how they moved with a fluidity that suggested years of discipline and training. They spoke quietly among themselves, but every now and then, one would glance around, as if aware of being watched. When they finished their meal and stood to leave, Gojo casually wiped his mouth, left a tip on the table, and followed them, curious to learn more about their technique and how they managed their nen.
He kept a respectable distance as he trailed them through the city streets, his interest piqued by the possibility of discovering something new. Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once colonized by local drug addicts.
As they moved deeper into the city, the noise of the crowd began to fade, and the surroundings became quieter and more secluded. Gojo adjusted his black sleeping mask, his Six Eyes now more attuned to the shifting energies around him. He was ready to see where this path would lead.
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