Did I Remember Wrong?

Did I Remember Wrong? The next day, in the arena.

"Impressive..."

A soldier who looked even bigger than Oboro was being held by the throat, strangled tightly by the wounded Suit Thug.

Zalon's throat bobbed as he struggled to force out two words.

Oboro tightened his fingers, and a torrent of blood immediately poured from Zalon's mouth.

Most of the Nen users in the audience looked horrified and incredulous at the sight.

They stood in stark contrast to the ordinary spectators, who were red-faced and hoarse from shouting, their blood boiling from the spectacle.

Zalon had lost.

They might have been able to accept Oboro defeating Echimilu, but defeating Zalon... that was beyond anything they had expected.

Ever since the mercenary Zalon had reached the two-hundredth floor, he had displayed overwhelming strength and skill, without a single defeat or point lost.

Zalon was an Enhancement-type Nen user. In terms of sheer offensive power and lethality, Echimilu was nowhere near his equal.

More importantly, they had also learned some information about Zalon. He had once worked for a highly unstable independent nation, following one branch of its royal family and spending years on the battlefield. A man like that had been tempered by countless wars. Neither his mental fortitude nor his combat qualities could be compared to those of an ordinary Fighter.

Their environments of growth had been different.

Compared to someone like Zalon, the other Nen users were more straightforward.

They were simply here to compete. Nothing more.

All five fingers on Oboro's left hand had been twisted and broken when Zalon's fist had smashed them during their exchange of punches and palms. At the same time, Oboro's body was covered in blood, leaving him in a miserable state. Yet in the end, he had been the one to remain standing through calculation and surprise.

Blood covered Oboro's entire face, but his eyes glimmered faintly with amusement as he stared at Zalon. "You can't speak, but you can raise your hand to signal the referee that you surrender."

Blood continued to bubble from the corner of Zalon's mouth.

Zalon did not react to his words. Though he was on the verge of death, his gaze remained calm and composed.

A loss was a loss. As a soldier, he would not surrender.

He entered every battle prepared to die. "Thank you."

Oboro understood the look on his face and spoke softly.

Then he exerted force again. With a crack, Zalon's neck snapped, and his breathing ceased.

Oboro did not dare let go, because the moment he released Zalon—so long as the man was not dead, so long as he could still move—he would certainly counterattack until the very last second of the fight. Oboro could not guarantee that he would catch another opening or find another chance to suppress him like this.

Killing him had also been a form of respect.

Respect for a warrior.

Once Zalon became a corpse, Oboro felt as though a great weight had been lifted from him. A wave of weakness washed over him, and he collapsed onto the stage, gasping violently, exhausted in both body and mind.

"The winner, Oboro!"

A moment later, the host announced the result.

The roar inside the arena rose again, deafeningly loud.

Oboro looked at the spotlights overhead and listened to the cheers of the crowd. Strangely, after that intense pleasure came a hollow feeling. His mind unconsciously recalled something Moritonio, the Circus leader, had once said.

"This is bad... It's fine to enjoy fighting, but don't become sick like Hisoka..."

Sensing the change in his own heart, Oboro smiled.

He enjoyed fighting because he learned things from the strong.

It was like playing a game. When he encountered a high-ranked player and went one-on-one with them, even losing would not leave him upset. Winning, naturally, felt even more rewarding.

He was not simply a battle-crazed lunatic.

Below the stage, Wing looked at Biscuit once again. He was utterly confused!

His horizons had broadened now, and he could see some of the subtleties. As he replayed the clash between Oboro and Zalon in his mind, he realized that the match had ended quickly, lasting less than ten minutes from start to finish. Yet every punch landed solidly, and the fight had been exceptionally bloody.

From his perspective, Oboro's proud physical constitution, including his aura reserves, had been clearly inferior to Zalon's.

That much was obvious from their brief exchanges after Zalon got close. Oboro had already suffered injuries to his limbs. As an Enhancement-type user, Zalon's attacks were more effective than Echimilu's.

But Zalon had lost. Both had used Nen abilities, and the only difference was that Oboro's ability had not been those summoned minions from the previous match.

Seeing her disciple look to her, Biscuit was no longer as astonished as before. She had grown used to Oboro's performances.

"There were two reasons he won. First... his brain."

Biscuit explained at length. "The little brat knew before the match that he had no chance in a direct contest of raw strength. So he couldn't drag things out. The longer the fight lasted, the more danger he would be in..."

"He guessed that Zalon would launch a relentless assault the moment the match began, because he knew exactly where his current shortcomings and weaknesses lay. After the previous match, his opponent was very likely to deny him any chance to breathe or adjust. He might have spent the last few days simulating their fight in his head. He imagined himself as Zalon and devised countermeasures. During the first few minutes, he was almost recklessly burning aura on defense. That also proves he really is growing..."

"He's very calculating. That's also why I won't let you fight him."

Biscuit recalled how Oboro had seen through her disguise as a young girl the moment they met.

This brat was an exceptionally crafty thief! On the stage, Oboro had already forced himself to stand and was leaving behind bloody footprints with every step.

"Second, his ability."

"His ability from the previous match left an impression, but clearly... that was only one of its effects. He was still hiding something! Zalon was misled..."

"His ability is very complicated. Relying on Nen alone, he could not have withstood an expert Enhancement-type user at his level, even if he defended with everything he had. But he endured it. When Zalon was attacking with all his might, a golden Barrier appeared around Oboro's body and absorbed a great deal of damage. In addition, Oboro himself received some sort of enhancement and buff. At a critical moment, he used his ability to make Zalon instantly fall into a state similar to Exhaust, allowing him to seize the initiative."

"A battle is a contest not only of Nen, stamina, and technique, but also of the mind. The information gap between opponents is precisely the point I wanted you to understand by bringing you to Heavens Arena. Watch him closely. You can learn plenty from him."

"There is no such thing as taking shortcuts in a battle between Nen users. If you lose, it simply means your skills are inferior."

After giving her advice, Biscuit pinched her chin and fell into thought.

She was studying Oboro's Nen ability...

That night, Oboro stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his hotel room, his entire body wrapped in bandages as he looked out at the neon-lit night.

If Echimilu had taught him a lesson about controlling the rhythm of battle,

then Zalon had simply overwhelmed him in physical strength and aura reserves.

He was also the first peer Oboro had encountered in Heavens Arena who surpassed him in both areas. Of course, that old hag Biscuit did not count.

The Rune Skills he had drawn with his Nen ability during the day gave him a plan for dealing with Zalon no matter which category he got. As a player, Rune Skills allowed him to set up his runes and summoner spells in advance.

For his runes, he had selected the green Resolve tree, with Grasp of the Undying, Bone Plating, and more to bolster his defense and durability. His summoner spells were Barrier and Exhaust.

And Zalon knew nothing about his ability.

That was also Oboro's advantage.

"This world is truly fascinating... Setting aside those plot characters, capable people are everywhere."

Oboro smiled faintly and looked at his bandaged left hand. "But now, I probably won't be able to fight again anytime soon... The cowardly ones won't dare set their sights on me anymore."

"The mandatory match within ninety days is far too slow... Even when ninety days are up, some people will probably surrender or forfeit immediately upon facing me."

"So... I still need to lose."

"In my upcoming matches... I'll rely solely on Nen techniques to fight. As long as my safety is ensured, I'll take the initiative to surrender."

"Unless I encounter a genuine expert... someone worth playing with."

"As targets for training, to improve my Nen techniques, they are still qualified..."

Oboro muttered to himself.

Over the following days, he went to the arena venue every day, but... as a spectator.

Observing from outside the situation, from a third-person perspective, was sometimes more helpful for understanding the flow of battle. He could also absorb and learn some "knowledge."

He watched how others responded when facing different Nen users.

"Hi."

One day, before a match began, Oboro found an empty seat and sat down.

Biscuit and Wing were sitting beside it.

He warmly greeted the old hag.

"Hello, my name is Wing."

As gentle and mild as ever, Wing smiled and shook Oboro's hand.

"I know you."

Oboro nodded lightly.

"Tch."

Biscuit, on the other hand, looked displeased when she saw him approach. She turned her head away and presented him with the back of it, unwilling to acknowledge him.

"Master..."

Wing hurriedly tried to smooth things over, looking awkward.

Oboro laughed silently.

He had always been the one who disliked others. This was the first time someone had disliked him.

"I was wondering when you would come looking for me again... Aren't you my fan?" After sitting down, Oboro looked at her. "Ah, no, that's not right. I should say... my girlfriend? Although you're actually quite old, I don't mind..."

"Ahhh! Bastard! You really are a terrible person!"

"How dare you say something so shameless to such a pretty, beautiful young girl?!!!"

At his words, Biscuit whirled around to face Oboro. Looking utterly enraged, she glared at him.

"Master..."

Wing sensed the strange atmosphere between them and did not know what to do.

"Hm? Did I remember wrong? It seemed like someone came to my room in the middle of the night and said she liked me very much... and wanted to..."

Oboro said.

Seeing Biscuit clench her fists in anger, with even signs that she was about to release Nen,

Oboro curled his lips into a smile. "Forget it. The match is about to start, so let's watch!"

After mocking the old hag, he casually changed the topic.

Biscuit, who had been about to explode, forcefully swallowed her anger.

Seeing that, Wing wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Finally, things had quieted down...

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Oboro. It was the first time he had observed the man from such close range. Then he looked at his sulking master.

He knew his master far too well...

Biscuit was usually the one teasing others. This was the first time he had seen someone who could get the better of her.

"He really is... not simple."

Wing pushed up his glasses, their lenses reflecting the lights, as he thought to himself.