"I have a teammate behind me. I'll go get him."
Shalnark gave a friendly nod, expecting to see another strong combatant join the team.
A few seconds later, Jon waved someone over.
"Lindsay! Come here!"
A flustered figure stumbled out from behind a tree. Lindsay peeked at the group, instantly paled, and then rushed behind Jon like a frightened cat hiding behind its owner's legs.
"I-Is it true they all have weapons? Are they scary? Jon, I don't wanna die," Lindsay whimpered, gripping Jon's shirt.
Shalnark blinked. He had expected Jon's teammate to be… well, someone cooler. Maybe a stoic martial artist. A scar-faced hunter. Or at the very least, someone who didn't squeal like a startled kitten.
He looked at Lindsay again.
Cute face. Delicate voice. Shy behavior.
Then realization struck.
Shalnark's eyes subtly widened.
Wait a minute… that's a dude?!
He glanced back at Jon.
With Jon's strength and confidence, he could've easily teamed up with any badass lady examinee… but instead, he chose this adorable femboy. That's… surprisingly bold.
In Shalnark's mind, a ridiculous urban legend started forming. The youth these days really do march to a different beat. Girls? Nah. They're all into soft boys now. Middle schoolers on the outside, veteran-level degenerates on the inside.
He stared a little longer at Jon—who stood protectively in front of Lindsay like a knight guarding his precious treasure.
Jon noticed the look. At first, he didn't think much of it.
Then he noticed where Shalnark's eyes were drifting. His expression stiffened.
Wait… is this guy checking me out? He just tried to stab me with an antenna… is this some kind of weird flirting tactic? Jon's back tensed up.
No… it couldn't be. Shalnark doesn't swing that way in the original story… right?
But then again, this was real life. And real life Shalnark was from Meteor City—where even the concept of social norms probably came in second to "survive by any means necessary."
Jon glanced at Shalnark suspiciously.
Shalnark quickly looked away.
"Oh Hell no. I'll have to kill him eventually."×2
"My name is Iwashiro Mizo Roku, from the Land of the Rising Sun—the seventeenth-generation successor of the Sword Saint Iwashiro Mitsumasa!" a deep voice thundered from within the forest.
"I've trained in swordsmanship since I was five. It's been twenty-eight years now. I will pass the Hunter Exam. I will revive the Iwashiro Disintegration Stream! And today… all of you shall become souls beneath my blade!"
Jon turned toward the voice just as a rugged man stepped out of the woods. He wore a faded reddish-brown shirt, one eye tightly shut with a scar running above it. A single ponytail pointed defiantly at the sky, and his unshaven face wore the wild confidence of a seasoned warrior. One hand rested dramatically on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
He looked like he was in his fifties—or possibly just an incredibly weathered forty.
Jon raised an eyebrow.That expression… he looks like a real master.
Shalnark, sensing the same thing, grew cautious. Just like Uvogin, he thought. Another pain in the ass.
Then Lindsay tilted his head innocently."Wait… if you've been training for twenty-eight years, doesn't that make you… like… in your thirties?"
The swordsman twitched.
"You dare mock me?! Do you have a death wish?!" he barked, clearly offended and also clearly bad at math.
He stopped a few feet in front of the group and went dead silent, staring down at the ground like a dramatic anime character.
"…Oh dear, oh dear… it seems I have no choice but to use that technique," he muttered ominously.
Jon instinctively tensed up. He couldn't sense any Nen, but after the terrorist incident last time, he had vowed never to underestimate someone just because they didn't glow.
The man looked like a serious swordsman—complete with a Zoro-style scar and a Toriko-style ponytail. Even Shalnark stood from his seat, just in case.
Then suddenly, the swordsman roared, stomped one foot into the ground, and viciously kicked up a cloud of dirt.
The dust exploded toward them. Most people screamed, shielding their eyes, completely caught off guard.
Shalnark, with combat instincts honed sharper than most, saw through it instantly and blocked the debris with a lazy swipe of his arm.Jon, reacting half a second too late, summoned Stone Free, which coiled in front of him just in time.
The rest of the group? Blinded. Injured. Screaming.
Wait, that's it?! Jon thought, stunned.This guy's not a swordmaster, he's a sand-kicking maniac!
And just as Jon readied to counter, the "master swordsman" did something that froze everyone.
He turned.
And ran.
Full sprint.
No hesitation.
Like a man with overdue bills and no sword technique to back him up.
Shalnark, dumbfounded, lowered his guard too late.
Jon stood speechless.Is he seriously pulling a Joseph Joestar right now?! Iwashiro Mizo Roku… have some dignity! You were supposed to be a Sword Saint!
Before Jon could move, Shalnark grabbed a pistol from a nearby helper and fired a warning shot near Mizo Roku.
With no cover in sight, Mizo Roku panicked, dove forward in a pathetic donkey roll, and rolled right into a semicircle of five or six gun muzzles pointed straight at his face.
He stopped.
Smiled awkwardly.
And then collapsed to both knees.
"Big brother, I was wrong! Please spare me!"
His expression changed faster than channel-flipping with a remote. One second, he was a fierce warrior. The next? A sobbing middle-aged man pleading for his life with snot and tears streaming down his face.
"Weren't you talking about souls under your sword?" Jon asked, squinting.
"I just wanted to show off! I'm sorry, I messed up, okay?!"
"You do realize we all had guns, right?" another person asked. "Why'd you still charge at us?"
"I'm extremely nearsighted! My contact lenses fell out!"
"…Didn't you say you were a sword master?"
"My ancestor was! I'm more of a spiritual successor… of his courage…"
Mizo Roku, once a would-be sword saint, was now crying like a scolded schoolkid. It was hard to watch. And yet, somehow, even harder to look away.
Jon deadpanned. Shalnark couldn't even be bothered to insert an antenna into someone this cowardly. His puppet phone could only control a limited number of people, and Iwashiro Mizo Roku's worth didn't even come close to making the cut.
"Let's just kill him," Shalnark said flatly.
"I advise you not to do that." Iwashiro Mizo Roku's tone was calm, his face surprisingly composed. "You've all got guns and outnumber me—this isn't a fair fight. If I die here, it won't be by my own strength. I won't accept that."
He suddenly glared at Shalnark. "Especially you. You're the type I hate the most. The smug, pretty-boy deadbeats."
Out of the group, the gun-toting men looked like hardened mercenaries. The other two were kids, barely threatening. Jon, meanwhile, looked like the kind of delicate guy you'd want to bully just to feel alive.
"You all look down on me. I get it—I'm weak. But don't humiliate me like this."
Jon raised an eyebrow, amused by the melodramatic speech. "So what exactly do you want?"
Iwashiro's face, still bruised and swollen, took on an expression of pure indignation. He looked like a kicked puppy demanding justice. Jon couldn't help but snort.
"You bastard—you're trying to laugh!"
Jon lowered his head, one hand on his stomach. "Mr. Iwashiro Mizo Roku… pfft… I've had professional training… I can hold back…"
A beat passed.
"Unless I—can't."
He burst out laughing, completely unrestrained. The others stayed silent, unsure whether to join in. Only Lindsay seemed to have any sympathy for the broken man, but Jon's uncontrollable laughter echoed louder in the awkward silence.
"I demand a sacred duel!" Iwashiro suddenly declared, puffing out his chest. "Even if you're just a little brat, you can't insult my dignity like this!"
His shamelessness once again redefined Jon's understanding of rock bottom.
Shalnark, curious to see what Jon could do, released Iwashiro—with Jon's permission.
The two faced off, standing in the open clearing as a cold wind swept past them. It almost looked like a duel between true masters.
Jon made the first move. He didn't use Stone Free. He wanted to fight using only his body and Hamon.
Jon's aura flared like a comet streaking through the sky. Iwashiro instinctively took a step back.
"I—Iwashiro Mizo Roku—won't fall so easily! I'll avenge this disgrace! A hundredfold!"
Then—
"Wait… This place…" he muttered. "Yes… this is the forest. My escape route!"
He turned and bolted.
While fleeing through the woods, he suddenly flung a handful of senbon needles—not at Jon, but at Lindsay, the most defenseless person in the group.
Jon cursed under his breath and gave chase, trying to protect her, but he was still too green. His speed wasn't enough.
"When it comes to running away," Iwashiro shouted from the trees, "no one beats me!"
Is that really something to be proud of?!
"No… This is enough."
A blue figure flashed behind Jon.
"Stone Free: Stretch Punch!"
Stone Free's arm launched forward like a spring-loaded cannon, fists flying on the end of a long unraveling thread. The senbon were swatted aside by Shalnark.
Iwashiro, who couldn't even see the Stand, had no chance to dodge.
He was flattened instantly.
"Can you not hit me in the face?" he wheezed.
Jon stared down at the tangled heap that was Iwashiro.
"You're too pitiful. I don't even know what to say anymore."
He cracked his knuckles.
"Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora Ora—!"
A barrage of fists—too fast to see—pounded into Iwashiro's face like a meteor shower.
"Wait! Wait! I have something for you!"
Jon paused. "Keep it. You'll need it."
But Iwashiro weakly held up a wad of Jenny banknotes—the currency of the Hunter world.
Jon's eyes narrowed.
"Sayonara, unc," he muttered.
Iwashiro Mizo Roku survived—but only barely. All his belongings were confiscated, and as punishment, even his pants were taken. Jon stood by and watched as the staff dragged away the nearly naked, whimpering swordsman.
"Not even his pants were spared… Joseph Joestar is a dangerous influence."