The 50th Floor waiting room. The lights were blindingly white, and the air smelled of sweat and disinfectant. Fighters warmed up on their own—punching sandbags, stretching their legs, or leaning against the walls with their eyes closed.
Killua leaned against a metal wall, his hands in his pockets. The elevator doors opened, and Gon stepped out with a little boy in a white martial arts uniform. The boy had thick eyebrows and a neat buzz cut, and he walked with a light, steady stride.
"Hello! I'm Zushi, a student of Shingen-Ryu! I saw your matches on the first floor. You were amazing!" Zushi clasped his hands and gave them a solemn bow.
"Oh? Shingen-Ryu? Never heard of it." Killua raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Did you jump straight up from the first floor too?"
"Yeah! The referee said I could go to the 60th Floor, but I wanted a few more matches on the 50th. My instructor said it would help me build a solid foundation." Zushi nodded hard.
The elevator attendant explained the 50th Floor rules: matches lasted three minutes and were decided by points or knockout. A clean hit earned one point, a critical hit two, and a down one. The first fighter to reach ten points, or to knock out the opponent, won.
Killua stepped out of the elevator and scanned the electronic screen on the waiting room wall. His gaze stopped on a match listing. "Ring 57. My opponent's Zushi." He turned to Gon. "I'll see you on the 60th Floor."
The announcement sounded: "Competitor 2055, Gon, please report to Ring 53. Competitors 2044, Killua, and 2066, Zushi, please report to Ring 57."
Gon headed toward another ring.
Saitama sat in the last row of the competitors' section, popping a potato chip into his mouth. While buying corn by the entrance, he had spotted chips on a snack stand and grabbed a bag. Barbecue flavor—the same kind that went on sale at the Z City supermarket. They even had it here. Chip bags rustled all over the arena stands, and his unhurried crunching blended right in.
The bottle of dipping sauce in his plastic bag was still more than half full. He put another chip in his mouth. Crunch.
In front of the television, Genos scooped the last spoonful of rice from the cooker into his bowl and sat back down at the coffee table. Onscreen, Killua was loosening his wrists in front of Ring 57. Genos opened a bag of chips too—seaweed flavor, bought on the same supermarket trip as the barbecue-flavored bag on the table. Last time, his teacher had said the barbecue flavor tasted better, so Genos had bought three bags of each to let him choose when he got back.
He put a chip in his mouth. Crunch.
Ring 57 was covered in a blue nonslip mat, with spectators packed around it. The referee stood in the center in a black uniform, timer in hand. Beside the ring, a bespectacled man stood in the competitors' area with his shirt collar open, arms folded, and a smile on his face. Wing—Zushi's instructor and a Shingen-Ryu master.
The referee raised his right hand. "Fighters, ready—begin!"
Zushi immediately took a standard Shingen-Ryu fighting stance. His feet were shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and hands guarding his chest. His gaze was focused, every muscle taut, with no opening in sight.
Killua walked toward Zushi with his hands in his pockets. That's a solid stance. He didn't pick it up overnight. Shingen-Ryu, huh? Interesting.
"Hah!" Zushi drew a deep breath and shouted. He lunged, driving his right fist straight at Killua's face. It cut through the air with a sharp whistle, his movement crisp and clean.
Too slow. Killua shifted slightly to the side, barely moving his feet, and dodged the punch with ease. He slipped behind Zushi, stiffened the edge of his right hand like a blade, and struck the back of his neck with precision.
Smack.
Zushi's eyes widened. He instantly lost his balance and pitched forward onto the mat. The referee hurried over to check on him. "Critical hit! Competitor 2044, Killua, scores two points!"
The spectators began to murmur. The silver-haired kid really was good. The Shingen-Ryu boy was no match for him. Betting on Killua had been the right call. Killua stood beside Zushi, his hands still in his pockets. "Sorry, but until the 150th Floor, this one move's all I need."
Zushi pushed himself off the mat within ten seconds. He shook his head and resumed his Shingen-Ryu stance, his gaze still focused. "I haven't lost yet!"
Killua raised an eyebrow. He hadn't held back on that strike. Judging by the opponents he'd faced on the 50th Floor, that chop should have kept Zushi down through the count. But Zushi was on his feet, with no pain on his face—only focus. I went too easy on him.
Killua sidestepped Zushi's straight punch again, slipped behind him, and stiffened the edge of his hand. This time he struck the same spot harder. Zushi fell face-first to the mat once more.
"Critical hit!" the referee called. "Two more points for Killua!"
Zushi got up again. A trickle of blood marked the corner of his mouth, but he wiped it away with his sleeve, settled back into his Shingen-Ryu stance, and took a deep breath.
Killua frowned. It wasn't that he'd struck too lightly. He'd hit hard enough. Zushi could simply get back up.
In the last row of the stands, Saitama put a chip in his mouth. Crunch. Aura had begun to flow in the ring—not physical force, but the basic form of Nen. Wing still stood at ringside with his arms folded, but a faint aura was already rising around Zushi's body. Finally. Saitama ate another chip. Crunch.
In front of the television, Genos ate a seaweed-flavored chip. Crunch. A barely visible glow appeared around Zushi onscreen. The first page of the Hunter Wiki's explanation of Nen abilities had officially entered live combat. Genos swallowed, reached for the remote, and turned up the volume. Then he picked up his notebook from the coffee table and opened it to a marked page. He had already copied down the definitions of the Four Major Principles—Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu—in neat handwriting. His teacher was probably in the stands right now, likely halfway through his bag of barbecue-flavored chips.
Just as Killua prepared to strike a third time, something about Zushi changed. His fingers curled slightly, his arm muscles began to tremble, and a faint but distinct aura flowed from his body, wrapping him in a pale glow. His calm expression turned fierce, and a sharpness unlike anything before entered his eyes.
That feeling—it's the same as Illumi's! Killua's pupils contracted, and his body snapped on guard. An invisible pressure radiated from Zushi, like the tip of a fine needle pressed against the back of Killua's neck. He's no ordinary kid.
The stands erupted. The commentator cried, "This boy's presence has changed completely!"
"Take this!" Zushi charged Killua again, far faster and stronger than before.
Killua instinctively retreated. His legs made the decision on their own. It wasn't fear; before his mind could react, his body had already started backing toward the edge of the ring. He had felt this pressure before. Every time his big brother stood behind him, his body automatically pulled away like this. Killua gritted his teeth and forced himself to stop. He sidestepped Zushi's straight punch, then countered with another chop to the back of his neck. This time, Zushi merely swayed when it landed. He didn't fall or spit blood. He only tilted his head slightly, then turned back, his eyes sharper than ever.
"Is that the only move you have?" Zushi stared at him.
"Zushi! Stop!" someone shouted from the stands. Wing had both hands on the railing, his expression stern.
Zushi froze. The aura around him vanished, clarity returned to his eyes, and guilt showed on his face. He stopped at once and bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Instructor! I... I wanted to win so badly!" The pressure was gone. He was the polite little boy again.
Wing offered no explanation. He climbed over the railing, went to Zushi, and bent to whisper in his ear. His voice was so low that only Zushi should have heard, but Killua's ears twitched. His Zoldyck hearing training let him catch a few words: "...before the 200th Floor, you mustn't use that power."
The referee declared Killua the winner, with a final score of 7–3. Killua didn't raise a hand in acknowledgment. He just watched Zushi return to Wing's side.
Saitama put the last chip in his mouth. Crunch. His chewing stopped in the back row. He looked down at the empty bag—barbecue flavor, the same kind sold in Z City. He crumpled it, stuffed it into his plastic bag, then stood and brushed the crumbs off his pants. What Wing had said had pinpointed the threshold for Nen abilities: the 200th Floor. Tomorrow, he would teach them "burn." There was no rush. The bottle of dipping sauce in Saitama's plastic bag was still more than half full.
In front of the television, Genos put the last seaweed-flavored chip in his mouth. Crunch. He closed his notebook and used the remote to pause the screen on Wing leading Zushi out through the competitors' entrance. On the last page of his notebook, he wrote: Basic Nen instruction is about to begin. Teacher is eating chips. He crumpled the empty bag and tossed it into the trash can beside the coffee table, then added one more line: Barbecue flavor.
Before you continue