Leorio the Shadow Monarch - Chapter 6
Chapter 6: Menchi’s Fury & A Failed Dish
The Visca Forest Preserve had rapidly devolved from a tranquil woodland into the world’s most chaotic, oversized barbecue competition. Everywhere you looked, exhausted applicants were locked in mortal combat with multi-ton pig carcasses and roaring bonfires. The air hung thick with smoke, the sizzle of burning fat, and the distinct aroma of desperation.
Leorio wiped a bead of sweat – or maybe pig grease – from his temple. Wrestling his own Great Stampede Pig onto the makeshift spit had been… interesting. Even with his system-granted Strength score of 31, translating to a staggering 15.5 tons of lifting force (a fact that still boggled his mind), maneuvering the dead weight of the beast had been less about raw power and more about awkward leverage and sheer grunt work. He could lift it, sure, probably toss it if he really tried, but getting it balanced and rotating evenly over the inferno he’d built was another story entirely. He felt less like a potential Hunter and more like a very confused, very strong construction worker attempting his first pig roast.
He glanced over at Gon and Kurapika. Gon, bless his simple heart, was attacking the cooking process with the same boundless enthusiasm he applied to everything, somehow managing not to set himself or the pig completely ablaze. Kurapika, ever the perfectionist, was meticulously attempting to create some kind of herbal rub, likely analyzing the structural integrity of the pig’s hide as he went.
Then there was Killua. Leorio watched him for a moment, a small frown creasing his brow. The kid wasn’t sweating, wasn’t straining. He moved with an unnerving, fluid efficiency around his group’s pig, making precise cuts with a borrowed knife faster than Leorio could properly track. He seemed to know exactly where the fire burned hottest, positioning the pig effortlessly. No visible sparks, no overt display of the Zoldyck family’s infamous electrical talents – Leorio knew Gon and Kurapika were still oblivious to Nen, and Killua was smart enough to hide that. But the sheer competence, the innate, honed skill radiating from the boy… it was humbling. Leorio might have raw strength nearing Killua’s benchmark of 16 tons (he was just 500kg short!), but Killua had skill polished over years of brutal training. It was a different league.
Eventually, the Herculean task of roasting was complete for most survivors. Buhara, the walking black hole, began his judgment. No fancy critiques, no scoring cards. He simply approached, inhaled the entire roasted pig in a display of jaw-dropping gluttony, mumbled “Pass,” and moved on. Leorio watched his own hard work vanish into that cavernous maw, feeling a bizarre mix of relief and anticlimax. As Buhara finished his porcine pilgrimage, Leorio felt the familiar mental chime.
`[New Main Scenario Quest Added!]`
`[Quest Name: The Second Course]`
`[Objective: Successfully pass Phase 2 of the 287th Hunter Exam.]`
`[Reward: Unknown]`
Right, part two. Bring on the pain, Leorio thought grimly.
Menchi stepped forward, and the atmosphere instantly shifted. Buhara was a force of nature; Menchi was a meticulously controlled explosion waiting to happen. She clapped her hands, the sound sharp enough to cut through the post-pig-roast haze.
“Alright, listen up, you greasy buffoons!” Her voice dripped with disdain, silencing the weary chatter. “Anyone with enough firewood and patience can roast a pig until it’s edible! Buhara’s satisfied, but satisfying me requires finesse! Skill! A passion for culinary creation!” She struck a pose, one hand on her hip, the other pointing dramatically towards the sky. “I demand artistry! Therefore, your next dish…” her eyes gleamed with mischievous delight, “…is Nigiri Sushi!”
Dead silence. Then, a wave of utter confusion washed over the applicants. Faces went blank. Leorio could practically see the question marks forming above their heads. “Sushi?” a burly man near him muttered. “Is that… a type of bear?” Someone else whispered, “Maybe it’s a fancy mushroom?”
Leorio almost snorted. These guys had probably never seen anything beyond roasted beasts and maybe some questionable stew. But him? Rohan Mehra, former Delhi resident? Sushi was practically comfort food! Nigiri – that elegant little boat of vinegared rice topped with fresh fish or other delights! He knew exactly what she meant!
Yes! An advantage! For a glorious, fleeting moment, Leorio felt a surge of hope. He actually knew the answer! While everyone else floundered, he could stride forward confidently and—
And what, exactly? The hope deflated faster than a punctured balloon. He knew of sushi. He’d eaten probably hundreds of pieces in his life. He could picture it perfectly: the glistening fish, the perfectly formed rice pillow, the subtle hint of wasabi. But making it? He wouldn’t know where to begin. How much vinegar? What kind of rice works best? How do you get that glossy sheen? How do those chefs slice the fish so perfectly thin, like edible silk? How do they shape the rice without it becoming a sticky grenade?
His foreknowledge felt like a cruel joke. He knew the destination but had zero idea how to drive the car, let alone build it from scratch. This wasn’t about strength or stats; this required skill, the kind born from practice and dedication, things his system hadn’t magically bestowed upon him.
Menchi, reveling in their collective ignorance, gestured towards a setup laden with ingredients – tanks of swimming fish, bins of rice, containers of vinegar, salt, sugar, some dubious-looking green paste, and an assortment of knives. “The ingredients are before you! Now, impress me!” she commanded, folding her arms with an air of challenge.
With a sigh that felt heavy enough to match his 16-ton lifting strength (courtesy of the +1 STR from leveling to 31 after killing his pig), Leorio trudged towards the supplies. Okay, think. What did those chefs do? He grabbed rice, fish, vinegar. He tried washing the rice, mimicking remembered motions, but wasn’t sure if he was doing it right. He cooked it over his fire – definitely wrong, sushi rice needed steaming. He mixed in vinegar, sugar, and salt, tasting it. Too sour? Not sour enough? He had no reference point. The result was a gloopy mess that smelled vaguely pickled.
Next, the fish. He selected one that looked reasonably fresh. He picked up a knife. Could he use his Agility (31 points!) for fine motor control? He tried, concentrating intensely, attempting a smooth, thin slice. The knife skittered, mangling the delicate flesh. He tried again, applying more force via his STR. Better, but still ragged, uneven. It looked less like sashimi and more like chum.
Finally, assembly. Wet hands, grab rice, try to shape… it stuck everywhere. He eventually formed something vaguely oblong, more of a lump than a boat. He carefully placed a piece of his butchered fish on top. It listed precariously. He dabbed on the green paste. His masterpiece. He stared at it. It stared back, mocking him with its sheer culinary failure.
My Shadow Pigs would probably use this as building material, he thought darkly. Maybe I could weaponize it? Throw it at enemies? ‘Leorio’s Sticky Rice Bomb of Despair’?”
He wasn’t alone in his failure. Glancing around, he saw a gallery of horrors. Gon had indeed made giant rice balls with fish crudely attached. Kurapika’s looked geometrically precise but dry and unappealing. Most others were far worse. Killua, predictably, hadn’t even bothered trying, leaning against a tree and watching the unfolding disaster with detached amusement.
Presentation time was agony. One by one, applicants brought their creations forward, only to be met with Menchi’s escalating fury. Her voice rose with each failed dish, echoing through the clearing. “Inedible!” “Sacrilege!” “Did you even look at the fish before you assaulted it?!”
When Leorio presented his pathetic plate, Menchi didn’t even need to taste it. She poked the lopsided creation with the tip of her knife. It wobbled, then collapsed into a sad heap.
“GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!” she shrieked, her face flushed crimson. “Is this a joke?! Are you all actively trying to insult me?! To insult the very spirit of cooking?!” She gestured wildly at the assembled failures. “Not one of you! NOT ONE! Has the slightest understanding of balance, technique, or flavor! You wouldn’t know culinary art if it bit you on the-” She cut herself off, taking a deep, furious breath.
“That settles it! Every single one of you FAILS! The Hunter Exam is OVER!”
The declaration hit like a physical blow. A wave of stunned silence was followed by groans, protests, and the sound of hope dying across the clearing. All that effort… wasted. Failed by fish and rice.
Leorio slumped onto a nearby log, the system’s power humming uselessly within him. He could lift sixteen tons, react with superhuman speed, perceive the world with heightened senses, command an army of spectral pigs… and he couldn’t make sushi. He couldn’t pass a test that required finesse, skill, something beyond the raw numbers his system provided.
His foreknowledge hadn’t helped; it had only highlighted his own incompetence. His power felt hollow in the face of this specific, practical failure. What good was lifting sixteen tons if you couldn’t handle a grain of rice properly?
He looked at his hands – hands that could crush stone but couldn’t shape shari. A grim, humorless smile touched his lips. The system was a shortcut to power, yes, but maybe not a shortcut to competence. There were still mountains to climb, skills to learn, experiences to gain. And apparently, one of those mountains was shaped like Nigiri Sushi. This wasn’t going to be easy.