Even the announcer was stunned for a few seconds. He hurried over to check on the other fighter.
His breathing was faint, with more air going out than coming in. Never mind whether he could get back up and keep fighting anytime soon—if he didn't receive treatment quickly, this might be his last match.
"Fighter 2064 is no longer able to continue. Fighter 1999 wins," the announcer declared loudly.
"You can go straight up to the 50th floor. I have high hopes for you." The announcer handed the boy still in the ring a pass, smiling warmly.
He was young, good-looking, strong, and seemed rather willful.
Those were exactly the kinds of fighters the Sky Arena welcomed most, because they meant one thing—spectacle.
Take one of the most popular fighters above the 200th Floor, the magician Hisoka.
His matches were dazzling, his moves cruel yet wrapped in the mysterious romance of a magic trick, and his personality was impossible to describe. Every time he fought, the audience scrambled for tickets.
He also made the Sky Arena a fortune.
As an announcer who dealt with all kinds of fighters every day, he thought the boy in front of him would become the kind of fighter adored by countless fans.
"Ah." The white-haired boy, whose face and body were covered in mysterious tattoos, took the pass. Too lazy to say another word, he headed straight off the stage.
As he made his way down, most of the people in the stands regarded him with subtle, astonished looks.
He ignored everyone's gaze and walked along, lost in thought.
From here on, I'll just fight with my fists. No Cursed Technique, no Nen. Of course, I'll have to control how hard I hit.
*I need everyone to think I'm somewhat strong, but no more