Could I Have Remembered Wrong?

Could I Have Remembered Wrong? The next day, in the arena.

"Im... pressive..."

The soldier, who looked even bigger than Oboro, was being held by the throat and choked tightly by the Suit Thug, whose body was covered in wounds.

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

With a squeeze of Oboro's fingers, a torrent of blood immediately spilled from his mouth.

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

They stood in stark contrast to the ordinary spectators, who were red-faced, roaring nonstop, their blood boiling with excitement.

Zalon had lost.

If Oboro had defeated Echimilu, they could still try to accept it. But defeating Zalon... that was beyond anything they had expected.

Ever since the mercenary Zalon had reached the 200th floor, he had displayed formidable strength and skill, with no losses and no points conceded.

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

More importantly, they had also learned some information about Zalon. This man had once been employed by an independent nation with an extremely chaotic political situation. He had followed a royal bloodline and spent years fighting across battlefields. Someone like that had been tempered by countless wars; whether in mental fortitude or combat ability, he was far beyond ordinary Fighters.

Their environments had shaped them differently.

Compared to someone like Zalon, the other Nen users... were much purer.

They were simply here to compete. Nothing more.

All five fingers on Oboro's left hand had been twisted and broken. Zalon had crushed them with a single punch during their exchange of fists and palms... At the same time, Oboro's body was covered in blood, and he looked utterly miserable. But in the end, he... had remained standing through calculation and surprise.

Blood plastered Oboro's entire face, but his eyes gleamed 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.

In every battle, he fought with the resolve to die! "Thank you."

Oboro understood the expression on his face and spoke softly.

Then his hand tightened again. With a crack, Zalon's neck was snapped, and he stopped breathing.

Oboro did not dare let go, because if he released Zalon—if the man was not dead, if he could still move—he would certainly counterattack... right until the final second of the battle. Oboro also could not guarantee that he would catch another opening or have another chance to suppress him like this.

Killing him was also a form of respect.

Respect for a warrior.

Once Zalon became a corpse, Oboro finally relaxed. A wave of weakness overwhelmed him, and he collapsed onto the stage, chest heaving violently... exhausted in both body and mind.

"The winner, Oboro!"

A moment later, the host announced the result.

The roar throughout the venue swelled again, deafeningly loud.

Oboro looked up at the spotlight above him and listened to the cheers... Yet after the extreme pleasure, a hollow feeling rose within him. His mind instinctively drifted to something the Circus leader, Moritonio, had once said.

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

Noticing 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, even if he lost... he would not feel disappointed. Winning naturally brought an even greater sense of accomplishment.

He was not simply some battle-crazed lunatic.

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

His perspective had improved now, and he could see some of the subtleties. He replayed the battle between Oboro and Zalon in his head... The match had ended quickly, taking less than ten minutes, but every blow landed solidly, and the fight had been extraordinarily bloody.

From his perspective, Oboro's supposedly proud physical abilities, including his aura reserves, were clearly inferior to Zalon's.

This was obvious from the fact that after Zalon got close, just a few exchanges of fists and kicks had left injuries on Oboro's limbs... As an Enhancement-type user, Zalon's attacks were more efficient than Echimilu's.

But Zalon had lost... Both had used Nen abilities. The only difference was that Oboro's ability was not the little soldiers he had summoned in the previous match.

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

"There were two reasons for his victory. First... his brain."

Biscuit spoke at length. "That little brat knew before the match that he had no chance in a straightforward contest of raw strength... So he could not drag things out. The longer the battle lasted, the more danger he would be in..."

"He guessed that Zalon would launch a relentless assault as soon as the match began... because he knew exactly where his current weaknesses and flaws lay... After the previous match, his opponent would very likely deny him any time to catch his breath or adapt. Perhaps he had spent the past few days simulating their fight in his mind... He would imagine himself as Zalon and devise countermeasures. In the opening minutes, he had almost completely abandoned any reserve, consuming aura to defend himself. That also showed that he really was growing..."

"He is very calculating... That is also why I did not let you fight him."

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

That kid was no ordinary thief! On the stage, Oboro had already forced himself to stand and was leaving, every step leaving behind a bloody footprint.

"Second, his ability."

"His ability in the previous match left a deep impression, but clearly... that was only one effect of how he used it. He... had more hidden up his sleeve! Zalon had been misled..."

"His ability is very complicated... Relying purely on Nen power, he could not have faced an Enhancement master like Zalon. Even if he defended with all his strength, he would not have been able to do it... But he endured. While Zalon was attacking relentlessly, a golden Barrier appeared around him and absorbed a great deal of damage. In addition, he received some sort of enhancement and buff, and at a crucial moment, he used his ability to instantly place Zalon in a state similar to Exhaust... thereby seizing the initiative."

"A battle is not a contest of Nen, stamina, and skill alone. It is also a contest of the mind... The information gap between opponents. What he displayed is exactly the point I brought you to Heavens Arena to understand... Watch him closely. You can learn quite a lot from him."

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

After advising him, 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 watched the neon nightscape.

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 he had encountered since arriving at Heavens Arena who surpassed him in both of those aspects. Of course, that old hag Biscuit did not count.

The Nen ability he had drawn during the day was Rune Skills. Regardless of which category he drew, he had a plan for dealing with Zalon. Rune Skills... allowed him, as a player, to set up his talents and Summoner Spells in advance.

For his talents, he had chosen the green Resolve tree, including Grasp of the Undying and Bone Plating, to improve his defense and toughness... His Summoner Spells were Barrier and Exhaust.

And Zalon had known nothing about his ability.

That was also his advantage.

"This world is really too interesting... Setting aside those plot characters, capable people are everywhere."

Oboro smiled faintly and looked at his heavily bandaged left hand. "But this means that for a while... I probably will not be able to fight again. The timid ones will no longer dare set their sights on me."

"The mandatory match every ninety days is too slow... Even when the ninety days are up, some people will probably surrender or forfeit immediately when they face me."

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

"In the next matches... I'll just rely on Nen techniques to fight. As long as my life is safe, I'll surrender voluntarily."

"Unless there are true experts... who might be worth playing with."

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

Oboro murmured to himself.

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

Watching from the outside, from a third-person perspective, was sometimes more useful for understanding the flow of battle and absorbing or learning certain "knowledge."

He wanted to see how others responded when facing different Nen users.

"Hi."

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

Biscuit and Wing were sitting right beside it.

He enthusiastically greeted the old hag.

"Hello, my name is Wing."

As gentle and calm 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 gave him the back of her head and turned away, unwilling to acknowledge him.

"Master..."

Wing hurriedly tried to smooth things over, looking rather awkward.

Oboro laughed silently.

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

"I was wondering when you would come find me again... Aren't you my fan?" After sitting down, Oboro looked at her. "Ah, no, that is not right. I should say... girlfriend? Even though your real age is rather advanced, I do not mind..."

"Ahhh! Bastard! You really are a vile little brat!"

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

Hearing that, Biscuit turned to face Oboro. She looked absolutely furious as she glared at him.

"Master..."

Wing sensed the strange atmosphere between them and felt somewhat at a loss.

"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... that she wanted to..."

Oboro said.

Biscuit clenched her fists furiously, and there were even signs that she might release Nen.

The corner of Oboro's lips rose. "Forget it. The match is about to begin. Let's watch the match first!"

After needling the old hag, he casually changed the subject.

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

Seeing this, Wing wiped away the cold sweat on his forehead. At last, things had settled down...

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Oboro. This was the first time he had observed the man up close. Then... he looked again at his sulking master.

He knew his master far too well...

Biscuit was usually the one playing with others. This was the first time he had seen someone able to keep his master in check.

"He really is... not simple."

Wing pushed up his glasses, light reflecting off the lenses as he thought to himself.