[33]: Annoying Kid
'Will he tell me his name?'
'Will he even talk to me?'
'With that strength at his age, he must think someone like me is beneath him...'
The blond, pageboy-haired boy clenched his hands behind his back, his fingernails digging deeply into his palms. Yet his face remained cautious and shy, as he watched the white-haired, blue-eyed boy in front of him.
There was something uniquely captivating about the mix of extremes in the other boy's presence. It was impossible not to notice him.
"Before asking someone's name, you should give yours first."
The white-haired boy raised an eyebrow, the black marks on his face shifting slightly with the motion. His gaze was cold—neither dismissive nor approving, just cold.
It was an impartial look, one that inexplicably put people at ease.
"My name is Malo, from Yorknew City," the blond introduced himself, his shy demeanor even making him blush.
What the fuck...? Is he blushing like a teapot?
Unable to bear the awkwardness, Cyr averted his eyes, letting them wander to the sky beyond the glass window.
"Yorknew, huh? Got it, Marrow," Cyr responded with a slight nod, only to realize his slip of the tongue immediately after.
Oops, got his name wrong. Oh well. Not like it matters. He's too weak to make a fuss about it anyway.
Yorknew—now there was a name he recognized. A city infamous for its underground auctions and being under the control of the mafia.
How did someone like him, timid as a mouse, even survive in a place like that?
"Um... you still haven't told me your name," Malo asked cautiously.
"...Cyr," the white-haired boy replied with his alias.
"Got it! Cyr! Can I stick with you?" Malo's face visibly brightened, filled with enthusiasm and excitement.
Seriously? All I said was a fake name. I don't get how weaklings think.
Cyr rolled his eyes internally as he replied decisively, "No."
He had no interest in teaming up with anyone, especially someone who would likely slow him down.
"I mean just while we're on the airship! After we land, you don't have to worry about me, even if I'm in trouble. I swear, I won't bother you or drag you into anything—just let me follow you for now..." Malo pleaded, trying to win him over.
But Cyr's expression remained completely indifferent.
"Enough." He frowned, cutting Malo off impatiently.
"Don't follow me," he added, vanishing from Malo's sight in the blink of an eye.
"...Rejected," Malo muttered, staring at the empty space in front of him, his head drooping.
"As expected, no one wants to be friends with someone as weak as me," he whispered softly to himself.
Blood dripped from his palms onto the transparent glass floor. He quickly crouched down and wiped the surface clean, as if afraid someone might notice.
---
Cyr, having successfully ditched Malo, found an unoccupied private room.
The room was modest but comfortable, with a single bed measuring roughly 1.8 by 2 meters and a private bathroom. While it couldn't compare to the luxury of the common areas, it was far better than most inns.
He placed his backpack on the bed and picked up a pen and a small piece of paper. After scribbling a message, he stuck it to the door.
"No Entry Without Permission."
Satisfied with the note, Cyr headed toward the entertainment room.
By the time Cyr arrived at the entertainment room, several people were already there.
Some sat at the bar, sipping drinks, while others gathered around a table, engrossed in a card game.
"You lost again? Looks like your luck's run dry lately."
"Bad luck in this exam? That's as good as a death sentence."
The man with the most wins smirked mockingly, while the one with the most losses slammed his hand on the table in frustration. Without a word, he drew his knife and pressed it against the winner's throat.
"If you kill me now, you'll be disqualified on the spot," the man with the knife at his throat said calmly, continuing to shuffle the deck without so much as a flinch.
"Let's see if your luck holds out until the end of the exam," the knife-wielder growled, withdrawing his weapon and sitting back down, clearly intending to settle the score later.
Cyr observed the exchange while sinking into a plush corner sofa. The softness of the cushions seemed to swallow him whole.
"So, examinees aren't allowed to kill each other, huh?" he mused aloud.
"But I distinctly remember Hisoka killing plenty of examinees," he added, thoughtfully tapping his chin.
And Hisoka had still passed the exam.
So, as long as you don't get caught, it's fine... Makes sense. It's a test where your life's on the line, after all.
"Anyone up for a game of cards?" Cyr asked lazily, raising his hand.
No one paid him any attention.
'Figures. Among this crowd of criminals, who'd want to play cards with a kid?'
"Well then, anyone heading to the training room? I can be your sparring partner," he offered, feigning disinterest.
This time, someone responded.
'Fighters are definitely more common here. Makes sense—this is the Hunter Exam, after all.'
"You serious, kid? You don't look cut out for sparring," replied a burly man with comically oversized biceps. His muscles bulged against his barely-there shirt, as if screaming for attention.
The man's fists—and biceps—were larger than Cyr's head.
'Funny. I don't think any of you here would even make decent sparring partners. None of you are even a fraction as strong as Syd. But whatever—might as well humor you for now.'
"Why not find out?" Cyr replied, his voice lazy and laced with a hint of amusement. He remained slouched in the sofa, as if even standing up was an effort.
"Hmph. Fine, let's go." The burly man marched out of the entertainment room.
Cyr followed behind, yawning as he did, while a small crowd of curious examinees trailed after him, eager to watch the show.
—-—
The airship, though massive, offered limited space for the examinees. After accounting for areas like the entertainment room, dining hall, private rest areas, and medical bay—as well as zones restricted to examiners and licensed Hunters—the training room was a shared space.
It was large enough to accommodate dozens of people training at once.
When Cyr and his group arrived, the training room was already in use. The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed sharply as they opened the door, a testament to the room's excellent soundproofing.
The training space was well-equipped, with everything from wooden dummies and sandbags to weights and mats.
In one corner, Cyr spotted Malo—engaged in a one-on-one "training session." He wasn't exactly sparring, though. Malo's role seemed to be that of a punching bag.
Despite having similar levels of life energy as his opponent, Malo was being completely dominated, pinned down and pummeled mercilessly.
'Yeah... "Marrow" definitely fits him better.'
"Take a good look, kid. That's probably your future," the burly man said with a smirk, gesturing to the one-sided beatdown.
"Oh, really?" Cyr's lips curled into a sly, mischievous grin, his blue eyes gleaming faintly.
The way he smiled had a ghostly quality, making the burly man hesitate for just a moment.
°°°
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