"It's about time to end this."
Kaizen drove Erlang back with a powerful punch.
Despite the intensity of the fight, Kaizen held back. He found something admirable in Erlang, so he gave him a chance. If Kaizen had gone all out, the fight would've ended much sooner—but now it was time to wrap it up.
Just as Erlang stumbled back, Kaizen vanished.
When he reappeared, he was behind Erlang.
Thwack!
Kaizen's hand chop landed sharply on the back of Erlang's neck.
Erlang's world tilted as a wave of dizziness crashed over him.
Thud!
He collapsed onto the ring floor, unable to resist. The referee quickly stepped forward and raised a hand.
"Winner: Kaizen!"
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the audience.
"That's it?"
"The fight was just getting intense!"
"What happened? Was there some kind of trick?"
"Maybe something shady's going on?"
A seasoned fighter nearby snorted at the comments. "Idiots."
He knew better. For spectators, the real action lies in the lower floors, where matches are more straightforward. Fighters there aren't strong enough to move at impossible speeds or execute subtle techniques, so ordinary people can follow along easily.
But the higher the floor, the harder it becomes for spectators to grasp the true depth of the battles. A real fight between skilled Nen users looks incomprehensible to the untrained eye—just flashes of movement and the outcome.
Even so, the aura radiating from these fighters draws in crowds, making tickets to higher floors far more expensive. And people are willing to pay.
Kaizen headed to the front desk. He claimed his winnings and collected the ticket for the 200th floor. Without hesitation, he stepped into the elevator.
Reaching the 200th floor was a game changer. Fighters above the 100th floor were given rooms to stay in, but the accommodations were basic, and they had to share training areas with others.
But once you reached the 200th floor, it was a whole different world. The rooms were spacious, luxurious, and well-equipped for private training. Here, you didn't need to fight over space at the public gym.
The elevator doors slid open, and Kaizen stepped out into the corridor.
A figure stood in his path—a hunched, weathered old man.
The man's aura drifted around him like a thick, uneasy fog. Kaizen's brows furrowed slightly, reminded of the time Gon and Killua encountered Hisoka at the same floor. Back then, Hisoka's aura had overwhelmed them, making it impossible to resist.
The old man gave Kaizen a sharp, assessing look.
"Kid."
"Sir, is there something you need?" Kaizen asked, polite but wary.
The old man's eyes gleamed. "I came to give you some advice."
"You might've been strong below the 200th floor," the old man continued, "but up here? It's a whole new world. You'd best tread carefully—plenty of psychos lurk around here. Dangerous types."
The old man gave a sly smile. "If you want, we can fight in the ring, and I'll give you some pointers."
Kaizen raised an eyebrow. Pointers? He knew better. This wasn't advice—it was a trap. The old man wanted to use him as an easy win, a stepping stone. If Kaizen accepted the match, the man would do everything in his power to crush him.
Kaizen's eyes flicked down to the man's missing leg and the faint traces of aura swirling around him. It was weak. By Silva's standards, this guy's Nen was barely E-level—maybe not even good enough to perform Ren properly.
(T/N: E-level: Beginners who have just started learning Nen.)
Kaizen smirked and lifted one finger.
The old man blinked in confusion.
Using his aura, Kaizen condensed two letters at the tip of his finger: OK.
The old man's gaze remained blank—he couldn't see it. Kaizen's grin widened.
"Thank you for the advice, sir," Kaizen said smoothly.
The old man gave a thin smile, satisfied by Kaizen's response. "Take your time to rest, kid. No rush to jump into a fight just yet."
"Of course. I'll be heading to my room now."
The old man nodded. "Rest well."
Kaizen turned and walked down the hallway toward his room.
As soon as Kaizen rounded the corner, the old man's expression darkened.
"Easy prey," he muttered under his breath. "When I get you in the ring, kid, I'll make sure you suffer."
His eyes glinted with malice as memories of his own initiation flooded back—memories of humiliation, of being torn apart by fighters far stronger than him. Back then, they didn't just beat him physically—they broke him mentally.
And now that he'd gained some power of his own, the old man was determined to pass that suffering along to every newcomer he met.
What he didn't know, however, was that someone else had overheard his muttered threats.
A shadowy, pink figure hovered silently beside him—Killer Queen.
Though the old man had spoken in a whisper, everything he said was now known to Kaizen.
At the far end of the corridor, a group of fighters appeared. They spotted the old man and sneered.
"Taking the lead again, huh?"
"Figures. That geezer always snatches the easiest targets."
"But this time," one of them muttered, "I won't let him hog the next fight. That kid will be mine soon enough."
The fighters shared a knowing look, confident that Kaizen wouldn't last long on the 200th floor. They didn't care if he lost or won—it was all about wearing him down.
After all, on the 200th floor of Heavens Arena, the real challenge isn't winning just once—it's surviving long enough to fight again.
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