Tonpa waited until Hisoka had disappeared from sight before stepping out from behind the wall and heading back toward the tables.
He didn’t hurry.
Running immediately after hiding was an excellent way to announce that he had been doing something suspicious, and Tonpa had spent enough effort over the past several hours presenting himself as a decent man.
He wasn’t about to ruin that work because of a skill named after a ridiculous family-related question.
He found Gon, Killua, Kurapika, and Leorio where he had left them.
Killua looked up as Tonpa approached, then glanced toward the direction he had come from.
“Where did you go?”
“To take a walk.”
“Behind the building?”
“Walking doesn’t become a crime just because you dislike the location.”
Killua watched him for another moment, then gave him a small smile that did absolutely nothing to reassure Tonpa.
Tonpa sat down and moved the bag of juice away from his feet.
The man he had tested the skill on was still at the other end of the hall, occasionally glancing around with an irritated expression, as though expecting his mother to actually appear and explain why he had obeyed a complete stranger.
Tonpa suppressed a smile.
‘At least the hundred Nen Points weren’t completely wasted.’
He summoned the Status Window to check his balance.
The translucent panel appeared before him, and his eyes settled on the five Nen Points he had left.
The number hurt, but he didn’t regret his purchases yet.
He now possessed Rank D Strength and Speed, along with a skill that might create one opportunity in a situation where he would otherwise have none.
He was about to close the window when he noticed a small button flashing beneath the Experience field.
[Level Up]
Tonpa stared at it.
Then he closed his eyes for a moment.
‘I almost forgot.’
He had spent three hundred Nen Points, tested his new strength, tried the Hunter’s Lottery, and then wandered off to ask a stranger whether his mother was standing behind him.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, he had forgotten the only reward that hadn’t demanded payment.
He focused on the button.
[Experience: 345/100]
[Level-up requirements met.]
[Would you like to level up?]
[Level 1 → Level 2]
[Yes/No]
Tonpa read the message twice, searching for a hidden fee or a penalty written in smaller letters.
He found nothing.
‘That alone makes it suspicious.’
Still, he had no reason to refuse.
He selected Yes.
A soft chime rang inside his head.
[Level Up successful.]
[Current Level: 2]
[Experience: 345/600]
Tonpa waited for something to change.
His muscles didn’t suddenly grow, nor did a new power surge through his body.
He remained seated on the same bench, with the same stomach and the same Leorio staring at him as though his prolonged silence was further proof that he was planning something unpleasant.
Then another message appeared.
[Nen Path unlock condition met.]
Tonpa stopped breathing.
[The Host’s body is now capable of learning Nen.]
[Nen Stats unlocked.]
For a moment, every other sound around him disappeared.
Nen. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
This wasn’t a minor increase in strength or a skill that made someone turn their head.
Nen was the true divide between those who could survive in this world and those who died without ever understanding what had killed them.
Every dangerous person Tonpa remembered possessed it.
Every objective the system had placed before him was impossible without it.
The corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it.
‘Finally.’
He no longer had to wait for a teacher simply to discover whether Tonpa’s body was capable of learning Nen at all.
Reaching Level 2 had opened the path for him.
Five years was still an insane deadline, but it no longer felt like a death sentence passed on a man who couldn’t even see his opponent’s weapon.
Tonpa opened the new section immediately.
Four fields appeared beneath a single heading.
[Nen Stats:]
[Ten: 0%] [10%]
[Zetsu: 0%] [10%]
[Ren: 0%] [10%]
[Hatsu: 0%] [10%]
[Hatsu Type: Undetermined]
His smile faded slightly.
The first values made sense.
He had never trained in Nen, so he hadn’t expected the level increase to hand him mastery for free.
What caught his attention was the second number repeated beside every field.
Ten percent.
All four numbers were red, unlike the rest of the white text on the interface.
Tonpa focused on Ten.
[Technique not acquired.]
[Development option unavailable.]
He tried Ren.
[Technique not acquired.]
[Development option unavailable.]
He moved on to Zetsu and then Hatsu, only to receive the same answer.
No cost appeared, no learning button became available, and there were no instructions explaining what he needed to do.
‘So it unlocked the Stats just so I could monitor my zeroes professionally.’
He tried selecting the red number beside Ten.
[No additional information available.]
He did the same with the others.
[No additional information available.]
His brows drew together.
He knew the four basic principles from the anime.
Ten kept the aura surrounding the body.
Zetsu shut it off.
Ren released a greater quantity of aura, while Hatsu expressed the user’s individual nature and ability.
Knowing their names didn’t mean he knew how to perform any of them.
Watching someone swim didn’t teach a drowning man how to breathe underwater.
He needed to open his aura nodes and train under someone who understood Nen.
Trying to force them open by himself could injure him, and if his memory was accurate, it might even kill him.
That explained the zeroes.
It did not explain the red tens.
Tonpa reopened his full Status Window and compared the lines one by one.
There was no development option beside the Nen techniques.
The same percentage appeared four times.
The number was red, and the system refused to explain it.
Then his gaze stopped on a line that had bothered him ever since he woke up in this world.
[Talent: E]
A cold sensation began to spread through his stomach.
‘No.’
He returned to the Nen Stats.
[Ten: 0%] [10%]
[Zetsu: 0%] [10%]
[Ren: 0%] [10%]
[Hatsu: 0%] [10%]
The system had never said the red number represented a maximum.
It hadn’t provided a single word explaining what the percentage meant.
But placing the same fixed number in red beside every technique, while his Talent remained at Rank E with no development option, did not leave him many comforting interpretations.
What if ten percent was the highest this body could ever reach?
The elation of leveling up vanished completely.
Tonpa was supposed to become the strongest Hunter in the world.
The system hadn’t merely demanded that he pass the Hunter Exam or learn Nen.
It expected him to surpass monsters like Netero, then conquer the Dark Continent and bring it under his control.
With ten percent.
Even Gon and Killua, with their terrifying potential, needed teachers, training, and time.
Tonpa might have started the race with a ceiling that didn’t even reach one-tenth of the path.
He focused on the Talent field, trying to summon some option the system might have hidden from him.
[Talent: E]
[Talent cannot be developed through the Status Window.]
Tonpa felt his chest tighten.
‘It allowed me to learn Nen, then told me I was destined to fail at it.’
“Tonpa?”
Gon’s voice came from the other side of the table.
Tonpa looked up and found all four of them watching him.
His expression must have changed more than he had realized.
“Are you all right?” Gon asked.
Tonpa forced his fingers to release the edge of the bench.
“I’m fine.
I just remembered something unpleasant.”
Leorio frowned.
“You’ve been staring into empty space ever since you sat down.”
“Thinking is a useful habit.
You should try it sometime.”
Leorio straightened, but Kurapika caught his arm before another argument could begin.
Tonpa didn’t care.
His attention returned to the numbers no one else could see.
Perhaps his conclusion was wrong.
The percentage might represent his current compatibility, or an initial value that would rise after he acquired each technique.
The system had offered no conclusive evidence.
But fear didn’t need conclusive evidence.
It needed only one reasonable possibility, and that possibility hung before him four times in red.
Tonpa cursed the system in silence.
Then he cursed the body he had inherited, the mission that had never suited him, and the entity that had combined all three and decided to call it an opportunity.
‘How am I supposed to become the strongest Hunter with ten percent?’
The system gave him no answer.
In the corner of the interface, the five-year countdown continued to fall.
And before his eyes, the red numbers remained unchanged.
Ten percent.