Bajiao cleared his throat dramatically, adopting what he clearly believed was the posture of a distinguished poet:
"The ancient pond—
A frog jumps in,
The sound of water."
He let the silence hang, clearly expecting some profound recognition.
Kevin nodded slowly. "That's... actually quite evocative."
"Right?! Matsuo Bashō—the original Bajiao—was a master! The simplicity, the moment captured, the way it makes you feel the stillness before and the ripple after..." Bajiao's eyes were dreamy. "One day, I hope to compose something half as good."
Kate had removed his cap and was rubbing his temples. "You're named after a seventeenth-century poet?"
"My parents had aspirations." Bajiao shrugged, his pompadour somehow remaining immaculate despite the sea breeze. "I like to think I'm living up to them. In my own way."
Goreinu, who had been quietly processing this information, ventured: "So when you said 'Standing on the bow, sunlight illuminates the sea, the sea surface follows the wind and waves'—that was your attempt?"
"Exactly! Did you feel it? The vastness? The hope of a new journey?" Bajiao's enthusiasm was undimmed by their earlier reactions.
"It was... very... words," Goreinu offered diplomatically.
Kevin hid a smile. Despite the absurdity, he found he didn't mind the distraction. For a few minutes, they weren't Hunter candidates facing three days of potential starvation and conflict. They were just four people on a ship, watching the sunrise, talking about poetry.
It wouldn't last. He knew that. But for now, it was enough.
Bajiao, encouraged by Kevin's genuine interest, launched into an explanation of seasonal words—cherry blossoms for spring, cicadas for summer, the harvest moon for autumn, snow for winter. He spoke of cutting words that created a pause, a breath, a moment of reflection. He quoted other poets—Buson, Issa, Shiki—and for each, offered a rough translation into the common tongue.
By the time he finished, the sun had fully risen, painting the sea in shades of gold and sapphire. Other candidates had long since disappeared below deck, securing their meager supplies and staking claims on territory. But Kevin's group remained on the bow, seemingly oblivious to the competition.
"Thank you," Kevin said quietly when Bajiao finally wound down. "That was genuinely interesting."
Bajiao beamed. "You're welcome! It's nice to meet someone who appreciates culture."
Kate finally spoke, his voice dry: "I appreciate culture. I just don't appreciate having it explained at me for forty minutes before breakfast."
"There is no breakfast," Goreinu reminded him glumly. "Just one bento box for three days."
The reminder sobered them. The poetry interlude was over. Reality reasserted itself.
Kevin turned to face the ship, his gaze sweeping across the decks, the windows, the lifeboats, the smokestacks. Somewhere in that maze, 104 other candidates were already planning, scheming, preparing. And somewhere, probably, the proctors for the next phase were watching, waiting to see who would break first.
"We have three days," Kevin said. "We have one bento box each, limited water from the ship's dispensers, and the items we chose. We have each other."
He looked at his companions—the poet with the perfect hair, the white-haired enigma, the quiet man with the fishing rod. An unlikely team. But in this exam, unlikely might be enough.
"First priority: find a secure location we can defend. Somewhere with multiple exits, limited sightlines for attackers, and access to fresh water. Second priority: establish a watch rotation. We sleep in shifts. Third priority: observe. Learn who the threats are, who the allies might be, how the proctors operate."
"And if someone tries to take our supplies?" Bajiao asked, his poet's dreaminess replaced by something harder.
Kevin met his gaze. "Then we remind them why taking from a group is harder than taking from an individual."
They moved as a unit, descending from the bow into the ship's interior. The corridors were dim, the old ship's lights flickering sporadically. From somewhere below, they heard raised voices—already, the competition was beginning.
Kevin led them toward the stern, toward a section he had noted during their earlier exploration: a former staff recreation area, now abandoned, with a single entrance, a small galley with its own water tank, and a window overlooking the sea. Not luxurious. But defensible.
They secured the door with a metal bar Bajiao found in a maintenance closet. They checked the corners, the ceiling panels, the ventilation shafts. They established a rotation: Kate first watch, then Goreinu, then Bajiao, then Kevin. They laid out their supplies—four bento boxes, a life raft, five life jackets, a spear gun, a fishing rod.
It wasn't much. But it was theirs.
As Kevin settled into a corner for his rest shift, he pulled out the prophecy again, reading it by the dim light filtering through the salt-crusted window.
Raise the flag for your legion; like-minded companions have already gathered around you.
The cunning wolf has already submitted, holding a jewel in its mouth, with a pack of wolves following behind it, and the three red-eyed birds have also landed on your shoulders.
His legion. His companions. They were here, on this ship, in this room. Not the ones from the prophecy—those were back in Lutto, training and building. But these three, for this moment, were his.
The long-awaited trial of inheritance is gradually approaching; the iron ship destined to be buried at the bottom of the sea has already docked.
The ship. This ship. The trial was approaching.
He folded the paper and tucked it away. Outside, the sea stretched endlessly, indifferent to the dramas playing out on its surface. Somewhere in the depths, water was already seeping through the deliberate damage in the hull. The countdown had begun.
Kevin closed his eyes. The ship creaked around him. His companions breathed in the darkness. And somewhere, in a cabin he couldn't see, a white-haired man named Lin was probably watching, waiting for the moment when the inheritance would finally be claimed.
Three days. An iron ship. One hundred and five candidates.
The second phase had begun.
Kevin stepped out onto the small balcony attached to their room, the salt air filling his lungs as he gazed across the endless expanse of sea. Behind him, he could hear Bajiao still muttering about haiku rhythms and seasonal words, his wounded poetic pride slowly healing through the application of more hair product.
The ship creaked and groaned around them, a constant reminder of its impending doom. Kevin's eyes traced the horizon, then dropped to the water below. Clear enough to see perhaps ten meters down before the depths swallowed the light. Plenty of fish, if one knew how to catch them.
He returned inside. "I'm going to scout. Get a feel for the ship's layout, see how the other candidates are settling in."
Kate looked up from where he was cleaning a small knife—one of the few items he'd been able to secure beyond the life jackets. "Want company?"
"Better if I go alone. Less conspicuous." Kevin paused at the door. "Keep an eye on our supplies. I'll be back within the hour."
The corridors of the cruise ship were a study in faded grandeur. Once-gleaming brass fixtures were now tarnished almost black. Carpet runners that had probably been crimson were worn to a muddy brown. The ship had been beautiful once, in some distant decade. Now it was just a shell, waiting for its final voyage to end at the bottom of the sea.
Kevin moved quietly, his footsteps barely audible even on the metal staircases. He passed other candidates huddled in doorways, some watching him with naked suspicion, others too exhausted or defeated to care. A few nodded in acknowledgment; he returned the gesture but didn't stop.
On Deck 5, he found something interesting: a group of candidates gathered around a notice board. Pinned to it was a hand-drawn map of the ship, with certain areas marked in red. The map was crude but accurate enough—someone had done their homework.
"That's helpful," Kevin murmured, stepping closer to study it.
"Careful," a voice said from behind him. "The guy who made that is charging for copies. Two sips of water per map."
Kevin turned. A young woman leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. She had short-cropped hair and the wiry build of someone used to hard physical labor. Her eyes were sharp, assessing.
"I'm not buying," Kevin said.
"Then you're just looking. That's free." She pushed off from the wall and walked over, standing beside him. "First time?"
"First exam, yes."
"Thought so. You've got that look. Not desperate, not scared—just... observant." She extended a hand. "Call me Sasha. Failed last year in the third phase. Trying again."
Kevin shook. "Kevin."
"Kevin." She tested the name. "So, Kevin-the-observer, what do you see?"
He considered the map. "I see someone who knows the ship's layout well enough to map it accurately. Which means either they've been here before, or they're very good at gathering information quickly. Either way, they're a player."
"Mm." Sasha nodded. "The mapmaker's name is Herlo. He's a cartographer by trade—civilian, not Hunter. But he's done survey work on a dozen different ship types. This was easy for him."
"And he's charging water for copies. Smart. Water's going to be more valuable than food by day two."
Sasha grinned. "You are observant. Most rookies don't think about hydration until they're already dehydrated."
Kevin filed that away. Sasha was useful—knowledgeable, friendly, but not naive. She'd make a good ally, if she proved trustworthy.
"You have a group?" he asked.
"Had. They didn't make it past the infiltration." Her expression flickered, just for an instant. "Now I'm solo, figuring out my next move."
"You could join us. We're four, have a secure room on Deck 3, supplies, and a plan."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's generous. What's the catch?"
"No catch. But we haven't survived long enough to be picky about allies, and you clearly know things we don't." Kevin met her gaze. "Fair exchange."
Sasha considered this for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll meet your group, see if we fit. But I don't follow blindly, and I don't sacrifice myself for strangers."
"Wouldn't expect you to."
They walked back together, Sasha filling the silence with observations about the other candidates she'd noted—who seemed dangerous, who seemed desperate, who seemed like they might cause trouble. Her intel was good, her judgments sharp. Kevin found himself glad he'd made the offer.
When they reached the room, Bajiao was at the door, spear gun in hand, his pompadour freshly sculpted. He took one look at Sasha and raised an eyebrow.
"Found a stray?"
"Potential ally," Kevin said, stepping inside. "Everyone, this is Sasha. Second-year candidate, knows the ship's layout and the players. Sasha, this is Bajiao, Kate, and Goreinu."
Introductions were made, hands shaken, assessments exchanged in the subtle language of people who knew they might have to trust each other with their lives. Sasha passed whatever test the others were applying; within minutes, she was sitting with them, sharing her observations.
"The mapmaker's not the only player," she said. "There's a group of veterans—Tonpa's crew—who are already scheming. They can't steal directly, but the rules don't forbid trading, and they don't forbid convincing people to trade unwisely. Expect them to try separating you from your supplies through trickery."
"We've met Tonpa," Goreinu said dryly. "Not impressed."
"Don't underestimate him. Thirty-five exams means he knows every trick, every loophole, every way to exploit the rules without breaking them. He's survived this long for a reason."
Kate, who had been silent, finally spoke. "What's your angle, Sasha? Why help us?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Because solo candidates don't make it to the third phase. I learned that last year. I watched people who were stronger, faster, smarter than me get eliminated because they had no one watching their backs." She glanced around the room. "You four have something most groups don't: you trust each other. That's rare. That's worth investing in."
Kevin watched the exchange, assessing. Kate's question was fair, and Sasha's answer rang true. Time would tell if she was as good as she seemed.
"Alright," Kevin said. "Sasha's in. That makes five. We need to establish watch rotations, supply management, and contingency plans for when the ship starts sinking."
"When," Bajiao noted. "Not if."
"Exactly."
They spent the next hour planning, Sasha's local knowledge filling gaps in their own. By the time they finished, the sun was high overhead, and the ship had settled into the quiet rhythm of a vessel under way.
On the surveillance screens in the Captain's cabin, two examiners watched with interest.
"Five now," Wahachi observed. "They're building quite the little coalition."
The Captain puffed his pipe. "Let's see how long it lasts. Trust is easy when there's no pressure. When the water starts rising..." He shrugged.
Wahachi grinned. "That's when it gets interesting."
On Deck 3, in a cramped room that smelled of salt and rust, five candidates prepared for the days ahead. None of them knew exactly what was coming. But they knew one thing for certain:
When the iron ship began its final descent, they would face it together.
Kevin and Goreinu continued their circuit of the deck, the five life vests now reduced to four after the spice trade. The makeshift marketplace hummed with quiet negotiations—candidates sizing each other up, assessing the value of items they'd never expected to need, calculating risks and opportunities.
"Smart move with the spices," Goreinu said quietly, tucking the packet securely into his jacket. "Eating cold fish for three days would be miserable. At least now we can pretend it's a proper meal."
"Small comforts matter when you're under pressure," Kevin replied. "Morale is a resource too."
They passed a candidate trying to trade a rusty fire extinguisher—useless without a fire, and if there was a fire, the extinguisher would be needed where it was, not in someone's hands. Another offered a coil of rope, which had potential value but was bulky and difficult to carry. A third, desperate, tried to trade a decorative ship's wheel he'd apparently wrenched off a wall. Kevin declined politely.
"Look there." Goreinu nodded toward a cluster of candidates near the railing. At the center stood a thin, nervous-looking young man with a small portable grill—exactly the charcoal stove Goreinu had mentioned earlier. Around him, three other candidates were making offers.
"We need to move fast," Kevin said. "That's going to be popular."
They approached, inserting themselves into the edge of the group. The stove's owner, whose number tag read 247, was visibly overwhelmed by the attention, his eyes darting between the offers like a trapped animal.
"—and I'll throw in this flashlight," one candidate was saying, holding up a battered but functional light.
"I have a first aid kit. Unopened," another offered.
The stove owner wavered, clearly tempted by the medical supplies.
Kevin waited until there was a lull, then stepped forward. "What do you actually need?"
The young man blinked at him. "What?"
"You're being offered things people think you want. I'm asking what you need. What problem are you trying to solve?"
For a moment, the stove owner looked confused. Then his expression shifted—from overwhelmed to thoughtful. "I... I can't swim. Not well. When the ship sinks..." He trailed off, embarrassed.
Understanding rippled through the small crowd. The other candidates' offers suddenly seemed less relevant.
Kevin nodded slowly. "That's honest. And smart—planning ahead." He reached into his pack and withdrew two life vests. "These are Coast Guard certified. Good for hours in the water, even if you're not a strong swimmer. I'll trade you both for the stove."
The stove owner's eyes widened. Two life vests. Enough to keep him safe even in rough seas. His gaze flicked to the other offers—a flashlight he didn't need, a first aid kit he hoped not to use, other items that wouldn't help him when the deck went under.
"Deal," he said quickly, before anyone could counter.
The exchange was made. Kevin handed over the vests, accepted the portable grill, and stepped back from the crowd. The other candidates dispersed, some shooting him resentful glances, others already scanning for new opportunities.
Goreinu was grinning. "You made that look easy."
"Information is the real currency," Kevin said, hefting the grill. "He told us what he actually valued. Everything else was just noise."
They continued their circuit, but nothing else caught their attention. A few candidates approached with offers—fishing line, a waterproof flashlight, a battered copy of a novel (useless but oddly charming)—but none matched what they already had or filled a genuine gap.
As they circled back toward their room, Goreinu asked, "What about water? We've got food covered, cooking covered, escape covered. But three days without fresh water..."
"The ship has dispensers in the crew areas," Kevin said. "We can access those as long as we're careful. And if those get locked down..." He glanced at the grill. "We can boil seawater. It's inefficient, takes fuel, but it's an option."
"You think of everything."
"No. I try to think of enough."
They climbed the stairs to Deck 3, navigating corridors that were growing more familiar with each pass. When they reached their room, they found Bajiao standing guard at the door, his spear gun held casually but his eyes alert.
"Any trouble?" Kevin asked.
Bajiao shook his head. "Quiet. Kate caught three fish already—threw two back, kept one for dinner. Sasha's been mapping escape routes from every deck. She's... intense."
"She's survived one exam and learned from it. That's valuable."
Inside, they found Kate cleaning his catch with the small knife, while Sasha sat cross-legged on the floor, a hand-drawn map spread before her. She looked up as they entered.
"Find anything good?"
Kevin set down the grill. "Charcoal stove. And spices."
Sasha's eyebrows rose. "Spices? On a sinking ship?"
"Morale," Kevin said simply. "We eat well, we stay sharp."
Kate glanced at the spice packet with something approaching reverence. "I take back every skeptical thought I've ever had about you."
They spent the next hour preparing—Sasha finishing her maps, Kate portioning the fish for grilling, Bajiao composing another haiku (this one about "the smoke of cooking rising like hope"), Goreuni organizing their supplies into categories. Kevin sat apart, watching the horizon through the salt-crusted window.
The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Another day survived. Two more to go before the ship reached its destination—or before it sank, whichever came first.
On the surveillance screens in the Captain's cabin, the two examiners watched the group's quiet efficiency with professional interest.
"They're building something," Wahachi observed. "Not just alliances. Something more."
The Captain puffed his pipe. "Trust. Real trust. Hard to fake, harder to break." He tapped the screen where Kevin sat, silhouetted against the sunset. "That one's the key. The others follow because he doesn't ask them to follow. He just... makes sense."
"Think they'll make it?"
The Captain shrugged. "They've got the skills, the supplies, the cohesion. But the exam isn't over. The ship hasn't started sinking. The real test is still coming." He smiled around his pipe stem. "That's when we see what they're made of."
On Deck 3, in a room that smelled of fish and salt and the faint, promising scent of charcoal, five candidates prepared for the night ahead. Watches were set. Plans were reviewed. A small fire was carefully kindled in the grill, and soon the rich smell of cooking fish filled the space—drawing envious glances from passing candidates, but no attempts at intrusion.
They ate well that night. Not much, but enough. Seasoned with spices that made it feel like more than survival rations.
As darkness fell and the ship steamed onward through the black sea, Kevin took the first watch. He sat by the window, the prophecy folded in his pocket, and watched the stars emerge one by one.
Somewhere ahead, the third phase waited. Somewhere below, water continued its patient advance through the damaged hull. Somewhere in the ship, a white-haired man named Lin was probably watching his own horizon, waiting for the moment when the "trial of inheritance" would finally begin.
But for now, there was only the night, the sea, and the quiet breathing of his companions.
Kevin settled into the darkness and watched.The encounter left a sour taste, not because of the failed trade, but because of what it revealed. Tonpa's network was already spreading, his influence reaching into groups of newcomers who didn't know any better. The radio owner was clearly one of his—placed there to monitor, to report, to eventually exploit.
"Should we warn them?" Goreinu asked quietly as they walked.
"Would they believe us?" Kevin countered. "To them, we're just another group of competitors trying to gain advantage. Tonpa's been playing this game for thirty years. He knows how to look harmless."
Goreinu fell silent. He knew Kevin was right.
They circled back toward the main trading area, passing clusters of candidates huddled over their precious items. The atmosphere had shifted since morning—less hopeful, more calculating. The first flush of camaraderie had worn off, replaced by the cold reality of limited resources and impending danger.
A young woman approached them, her eyes darting nervously. "You—you're the ones with the life vests, right?"
Kevin stopped. "We have a few left. What do you have to trade?"
She held up a small butane burner—not as good as a charcoal stove for sustained cooking, but useful nonetheless. "It has two full canisters. Should last through the exam."
Kevin examined it. Compact, efficient, easy to carry. "What do you want for it?"
"One life vest." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I can't swim. Not well. When the ship—" She stopped, swallowing hard.
Kevin understood. "One vest for the burner and both canisters."
Relief flooded her face. "Yes. Yes, thank you."
The exchange was quick, discreet. As she hurried away, clutching the vest like a lifeline, Goreinu shook his head. "She's terrified."
"Smart to be terrified. Fear keeps you alive when complacency gets you killed." Kevin tucked the burner into his pack. "We're done here. Let's head back."
The room on Deck 3 had transformed in their absence. Kate's fishing had yielded three more decent-sized fish, now cleaned and ready for cooking. Bajiao had arranged their supplies with obsessive precision—life raft in one corner, life jackets stacked neatly beside it, fishing rod and spear gun within easy reach. Sasha had expanded her maps, covering not just escape routes but potential ambush points, areas where candidates might try to corner others.
"You two look like you've been through something," Sasha observed as they entered.
"Met Tonpa's crew," Goreinu said, sinking onto a salvaged cushion. "They're already recruiting."
"Not surprising." Sasha's expression was grim. "Tonpa's been doing this long enough that he knows exactly how far he can push without getting disqualified. He won't steal directly. He'll trick, manipulate, and when the time comes, he'll let others do the dirty work while he walks away clean."
Kevin set down the butane burner. "We got this instead of the charcoal stove. Less fuel, but it'll work."
Bajiao examined it with interest. "Can we cook fish on this?"
"With a pan. Anyone see a pan?"
Silence. Then Kate cleared his throat and produced, from behind his pack, a slightly dented but usable metal cooking pan.
Everyone stared.
"I found it in a crew closet," Kate said mildly. "Figured it might be useful."
Bajiao burst out laughing. "You magnificent bastard."
They cooked dinner together—fish seasoned with the spices, sizzling in the pan over the blue flame of the butane burner. It was the best meal any of them had eaten in days, not because of the food itself, but because of what it represented: cooperation, resourcefulness, the small victory of making something good in the middle of a trial designed to break them.
As they ate, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of violet and crimson. Through the salt-crusted window, the sea stretched endless and indifferent.
"Second night," Goreinu said quietly. "One more day after this."
"Then the ship sinks," Bajiao added. "And we see who prepared and who didn't."
Kevin chewed slowly, thinking. The prophecy's words echoed in his mind: The iron ship destined to be buried at the bottom of the sea. They were on that ship. The sinking was inevitable. The question was what form it would take—a slow leak giving them time to escape, or something faster, more chaotic.
"We need a plan for the sinking," he said. "Not just escape—survival in the water. The life raft holds four. There are five of us."
Sasha nodded. "One of us stays with the life jackets, rotates in and out of the raft. We can manage."
"And we need a rendezvous point," Kate added. "If we get separated in the chaos, where do we regroup?"
They discussed it through the evening, sketching scenarios on Sasha's maps, accounting for wind, current, visibility. By the time the last light faded, they had a plan—flexible, redundant, designed to survive the collapse of any single element.
Outside, the ship hummed with the quiet tension of a hundred candidates waiting for the inevitable. Somewhere, Tonpa was probably weaving his webs. Somewhere, the white-haired Lin was watching, waiting.
In their small room, five people settled in for the night. Watches were set. Supplies were secured. The butane burner was extinguished, leaving only the soft glow of a single waterproof flashlight.
Kevin took first watch again. He sat by the window, watching the stars, feeling the ship's vibration through the floor. Beneath that vibration, if he focused, he could sense something else—a faint irregularity, a whisper of water moving where it shouldn't.
The ship was dying. Slowly, but surely.
He touched the prophecy in his pocket and waited for dawn.