The First Match (Please Follow)

The First Match (Please Follow). The moment he opened the door, the Fighters preparing for their matches inside turned to look at Oboro.

Some sneered when they saw what he was wearing.

The room was large, with various sections: a rest area, a training area, and several televisions broadcasting fierce matches in progress.

Oboro glanced around and found that all the seats in the rest area were taken. The equipment nearby was also occupied by several burly men with vicious-looking faces. Someone as unremarkable as him could only find a corner or stand against a wall.

The twenty or thirty people in the room had already formed an unspoken food chain.

Some of them might become opponents... so there was no need to put on friendly faces. No one had to be overly fake.

Oboro went to sit in an open area to the side. Other contestants entered the room afterward, while some left after being notified by the staff. The only thing that never changed was that no matter how the people present changed, the strong and weak always formed two separate groups.

Oboro was naturally an exception.

Every floor of Heavens Arena had several arena halls, not just one. Otherwise, with so many newcomers lining up every day, how long would they have to wait? Spectators could wander between the various arena halls at any time, looking for battles or contestants that interested them. The lower-floor arenas received little promotion or investment. Only after reaching the fiftieth floor would promising newcomers or popular Fighters catch the managers' attention and receive major publicity.

"Number 957, please proceed to Hall Seven on the first floor to prepare." After nearly two hours of waiting, Oboro was about to fall asleep when a voice finally came through the room's loudspeaker.

957 was him.

Oboro lazily got to his feet, rubbed his eyes, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked out.

A staff member outside led him to the contestants' passage for Hall Seven. Oboro glanced into the hall and saw that there were not many spectators, only a few hundred scattered around. The venue could hold several thousand people.

About a tenth of the seats were occupied.

Clearly, few spectators were interested in Fighters from the lower floors.

"The next two contestants are both newcomers... Number 957, Oboro, and Number 1398, Canby!"

The lights above the ring flashed. With the host's passionate professionalism, Oboro and his opponent emerged from separate corridors and ran toward the ring.

"According to the information we received... contestant Number 957, Oboro, does not seem to be a professional Fighter. On his registration form, he wrote that he came here solely for the prize money! It must be said that, as a rookie, he possesses admirable courage!"

"As for contestant Number 1398, Canby, I believe some longtime viewers will be quite familiar with him... That's right! Our contestant Canby was eliminated when he advanced to the thirty-seventh floor, so according to the rules, he must start climbing again from the first floor! Canby has outstanding defense and offensive power. The fat all over his body gives him incredible defense, and combined with his weight, it allows him to unleash highly dangerous, damaging attacks against his opponents... Oboro is terribly unlucky! In his very first match, he has encountered such a powerful Fighter... Will Canby teach this newcomer a lesson and win without suspense, or will Oboro turn the tables against all odds and give the audience a surprise? Let us wait and see."

When he stepped onto the ring, Oboro finally saw his opponent.

A fat man who weighed at least 150 kilograms and stood more than two meters tall!

He was like a mountain of flesh.

Compared to him, Oboro looked utterly alone, the contrast between them stark.

"It is rare to see a newcomer step onto the stage wearing such a casual suit. It seems... our contestant Oboro should be an office worker... But is he wearing sunglasses to keep his coworkers from recognizing his embarrassing appearance later?"

The host on the other side was still calling out, his tone teasing.

"..."

Oboro glanced at the bespectacled man holding the microphone. What kind of host was this?

He was a little too biased. It felt like he was already writing Oboro off.

The fat man standing before him, Canby, clapped his fan-sized palms together with a thunderous smack and flashed Oboro a fierce, mocking grin. "Lucky!"

"Kid, just surrender... Forget a rookie like you—even experienced Fighters can only admit defeat when they run into me! I just came down from the higher floors, and I'm in a bad mood... But I don't want to vent it on a newcomer either. If I hit you even once, you'll need months of recovery in the hospital... You won't even be able to go to work."

"Ooh! Our contestant Canby has issued a warning and threat to newcomer Oboro... How will contestant Oboro respond? Will he be scared out of his wits... or..."

The male host beside them was unbearably noisy as he started shouting again.

Annoyed by the host's noise, Oboro picked at his ear and looked at the referee. "Can we start?"

"My God! Faced with contestant Canby's threats, contestant Oboro remains extremely calm and is even urging the referee... He has no idea what kind of offensive he is about to face, nor what fate awaits him... And after being slighted by a rookie, the savage expression on contestant Canby's face has already revealed the anger in his heart! Yes! He is going to unleash his fury without restraint..."

The host's excited tone made Oboro feel like... he was about to climax.

Was there really any need to be so dedicated and passionate for a match on the lower floors?

Seriously...

"Go, rookie!"

"If you can last ten seconds, you've won!"

Still, the host's stirring words were effective... At the very least, the few hundred spectators showed anticipation. Some even shouted encouragement for Oboro.

But Oboro could tell that their cheers came from sympathy.

And then from anticipation... anticipation of how badly he would be tortured next.

Generally speaking, those who enjoyed this kind of intense hand-to-hand competition had a certain fascination with blood and violence.

The worse Oboro was beaten, the more excited they would become. "Begin!"

The referee swung his arm down and blew the whistle.

"Rookie! I'm going to crush your head! You'll pay for your stupidity... Don't expect me to go easy—"

"Alright, our contestant Canby is the first to launch an attack against contestant Oboro."

On the ring, the fat man shouted as he charged toward Oboro like a war chariot. The force of his running made the platform tremble slightly.

Below the ring, the bespectacled host stood up as well, working up the atmosphere.

The two voices overlapped almost at the same time.

Yet before either of them had finished speaking—

A sudden change occurred.

While the fat Canby was still running, the man who should have been in front of him suddenly vanished from his field of vision.

Bang! The next second, a foot appeared out of nowhere and kicked him in the abdomen like a flying kick.

Ripples spread across the fat man's belly. Then... explosive force erupted. Canby's eyes rolled back instantly, and he had already lost consciousness before his body was sent flying.

His massive body traced a straight arc through the air, flew out of the ring, smashed through the barrier beneath the stands, and landed amid broken stone.

Meanwhile, Oboro drifted lightly to the ground, his hands still in his pockets.

He had done nothing more than jump and sweep his leg in one fluid motion.

That was all...

But the fat man had been unable to react.

"Bzzzz..."

The arena speakers emitted a harsh feedback noise. The bespectacled host stood frozen, forgetting to commentate.

It had been too fast! Almost in the same second that the referee blew the whistle, Canby had gone flying.

No one had seen what happened.

Most importantly... this was not the script everyone had expected...

The arena fell into a brief dead silence.

"You can announce the result now."

Oboro spoke to the referee, who stood several meters away in a daze.

"Uh... the winner is Oboro!"

The referee came back to his senses and immediately shouted.

"Ahhhhh!"

"Something happened! Something huge happened!"

"My God! Unbelievable! Our contestant Canby was sent flying in an instant..."

The bespectacled host roared with surging excitement, but he saw that Oboro, after stepping down from the ring, did not return to the passage. Instead, he walked toward the commentary booth.

When the host saw Oboro's cold expression, his heart skipped a beat for no reason, and he immediately sensed trouble.

"What is your name?"

Oboro stopped before the host and asked.

"Dan... Just call me Dan."

The bespectacled man's voice trembled slightly.

"Your attitude and enthusiasm as a commentator are good, but you're biased. I hope you'll improve." Oboro suddenly smiled as he spoke, then patted Dan on the shoulder and turned away.

Dan's mind went blank.

He watched Oboro slowly disappear...

After his relief faded, he realized that he had not understood Oboro's lesson at all. Instead, he thought Oboro had praised him and approved of his commentary.

His voice into the microphone immediately became even more powerful!

"Contestant Number 957, Oboro! Everyone, remember him... a dark horse! A rising star who may cause a storm in Heavens Arena!"

"So strong..."

"His strength is terrifying... Even Canby lost. How many floors can this Oboro reach? Fifty... or a hundred..."

"We need to keep a close eye on him!"

Discussion began in the spectator stands as well.

Some people even pulled out notebooks and began taking notes.

They were scouts sent by various gambling houses. Before the general public learned of a contestant, they would use analyzed intelligence and information to open betting markets early and make a fortune from the odds.