"No matter what you think. Since you've chosen it, you'd better take it seriously! Otherwise, I'll make sure you fail the final exam!"
The stern declaration rang through the mountain trail, followed by collective groans from the group of students.
"If he hadn't failed so many classes and needed more credits, he wouldn't have chosen this course! We've been walking forever, and my feet are covered in blisters!" a chubby student complained loudly.
Despite the grumbles, no one dared to go against the master's orders. The chubby student sighed and begrudgingly kept pace. He glanced at his companion—a man with round glasses, spiky hair, and a notebook in hand, who was diligently jotting down notes.
"Leorio, you've already got great grades, haven't you? You must've earned enough credits ages ago. Now you just need your doctor's qualification, right? Why are you taking such a tough elective?"
Leorio wiped the sweat from his brow but kept writing. "How can it be tough when we've got school security guards escorting us? Besides, it's not hard—just a little warm."
"That's easy for you to say! You're a Hunter! This is nothing compared to what you've been through." The chubby student's tone shifted to one of envy. "Still, you're already a Hunter. You could've found so many ways to make money. Why go through the stress of becoming a doctor?"
Leorio smiled at the question, offering no immediate answer.
The chubby student continued, "Being a doctor is exhausting—long hours, constant pressure, and all the medical headaches you'll face. If it weren't for my family being full of doctors, I'd have never enrolled in this university!"
Leorio chuckled but said nothing. Their master called for the group to pick up the pace, prompting the two to start running again.
For someone like Leorio, aspiring to be the greatest doctor in the world, it was a no-brainer to use his Hunter license to enroll in the prestigious Medical University, where tuition was waived for Hunters.
Meanwhile, in a shadowed corner, the air grew heavy as tensions rose ahead of the looming alliance meeting. Residents with the means to leave had already fled, while those who stayed behind shuttered themselves indoors, leaving the streets eerily empty.
In the dim light of the night before the gathering, Ronnel stood over an unconscious man in tattered clothes.
"Sorry, brother, but you're going to be out of commission for a while. I'll attend this meeting for you. By the time you wake up, it'll all be over, saving you the trouble."
Ronnel ran his hand across his face, and his appearance morphed into an exact replica of the unconscious man on the ground.
"One wrong move could mean death, so let me take on this life-threatening spectacle for you," Ronnel murmured with a sly grin.
The meeting promised to be anything but ordinary. The Westin family, a notorious clan of killers, was preparing to make their move.
Unlike the Zoldyck family—legendary assassins known for their unflinching professionalism and unshakable code of honor—the Westin family prided themselves on cunning and survival at any cost. For them, dignity and pride were disposable commodities, as long as the job got done.
Their unscrupulous tactics, like feigning submission or begging for mercy to catch targets off guard, earned them both scorn and grudging respect in the assassin world. Despite the disdain of their peers, the results spoke for themselves: the Westins' success rate was exceptionally high.
Over time, many killer organizations secretly adopted the Westins' underhanded methods, begrudgingly recognizing their effectiveness. Though the Zoldycks stood tall as a gold standard of honor and skill, not every assassin could afford such lofty ideals.
In the shifting tides of the killer world, the Westin family's philosophy was steadily reshaping the industry—proving that, in the end, results were all that mattered.
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